Changing History: Calenhiril's Search
by fogisbeautiful
Summary: Part Four of the Changing History saga. At the end of one life another begins, but as much as she might wish it, Mel's story is not yet finished. Something is missing. Something is lost. And whether she likes it or not, the Valar are not quite done with Melody Calenhiril.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello again, lovely readers! You might not believe it, but the day is _finally_ here! Some of you have been waiting for ages and ages, some of you only a week or two, but today is the day that the fourth and final chapter of Melody Calenhiril's story begins. I hope it makes you as happy as it makes me to bring it to you. I can't wait to hear what you think! So without further ado…

* * *

 _ **Changing History: Calenhiril's Search**_

 **Chapter One**

 _The woods she wandered seemed familiar, as if from a long ago dream. The trees whispered softly, murmuring amongst themselves, so different from the chattering gossip of the apple orchard, but a comfort nonetheless. She walked the forest floor in bare feet, clothed only in her white nightdress, but this did not seem strange. The soft light filtering through the leaves was neither sun nor moon. She felt peaceful… until she heard the voice._

 _ **Melody Calenhiril.**_

 _That name… No one had called her by that name since… It was from an old life, a history that had been erased from memory._

 _ **Melody Calenhiril. Your second chance has come.**_

 _A strong wind blew through the canopy above, rattling the branches and whirling her in all directions. She was lost. All around her the trees rustled and laughed and danced in the blur of sudden movement._

 _ **Fulfill my purpose, Melody Calenhiril, keeper of the Yavannacor. Find that which you were born to seek…**_

Mel sat up in bed, gasping and fumbling, trying to find Boromir's arm in the dark. But the bed was empty. And then the dream was gone. She wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath, letting it out again with shaky slowness. She was in her house, _her_ house, the house she had shared with her husband for over four months. Spring had passed in that time and the heat of deep summer wafted through the dark. She could feel the metal of the Yavannacor pressing into her arm, even warmer than the heat that had settled over her in the dark of the bedroom. She looked down. The gleam of the green emerald was fading, but she knew that it had been glowing. She shivered and dropped her arms, swinging out of bed. Her bare feet on the smooth wooden floor felt solid and gave her a confidence that she had lacked until that moment. It was just a dream. It was only a dream.

She took a shawl from the bedpost and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, less to ward off the nonexistent chill than to provide soft comfort, before padding softly out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen. The sunlight spilling through the window was much brighter than she had expected. She had overslept. Embers from an earlier fire glowed in the rough stone hearth and she could see crumbs on the sturdy wooden table where Boromir had eaten his morning toast.

She opened the kitchen door and stepped outside. If there had been any dew, it had long since evaporated, leaving the grass warm against her skin. The sun was not yet high enough to escape the soft green filter of leaves from the trees along the lip of the valley. Mel leaned against the wide board fence that bordered the apple orchard on the valley's floor, her gift from the Valar, nestled deep in a pocket of wilderness basically in the middle of nowhere. Mel wondered, not for the first time, if this orchard had even existed before she and Boromir had cheated fate and been given a second chance.

 _…a second chance…_

The words tinkled around in her mind like wind chimes. A second chance… for what?

She slipped between the boards of the fence and walked out into the orchard. It didn't feel the same as walking among the trees she had encountered in the forests during their adventures. The trees of the orchard had no separate identities. They operated as a hive, individuals melded into one mind. It was impossible to distinguish one tree from another. And as keeper of the orchard, Mel was their queen. It had been strange at first, but now the buzzing chorus in her head was comfortingly familiar.

She accessed that network effortlessly and discovered a hint of Boromir's presence far out in the field. She walked that direction, but not in any particular hurry. The sun warmed her face and a breeze touched at her wavy brown hair, shoulder length now, the bangs that she had cut for herself blowing back to reveal the barest hint of the scar that cut across her forehead. She hardly remembered she had it anymore, but her time in the tower of Orthanc was not something she wished to be reminded of often. Those memories seemed out of place here, in the center of her greatest happiness. But try as she might, she could not seem to shake them entirely.

She found Boromir digging at the base of one of the trees, a pile of clipped grass and leaves to one side. Mel remembered this particular tree. It hadn't flowered well in the spring, and when prompted (as only Mel was able) they had decided to try mulching, hoping that it might produce better next year. As the queen of her orchard, Mel felt responsible for the health and happiness of all the trees in her care. It was difficult to see one of them suffering so soon after her coming here.

She stopped before she got close enough to disturb him, and for a moment she just watched Boromir work. He had adjusted to this life far better than she might have expected. The plain cotton shirt, brown trousers, and simple boots fit him just as well as his finer clothes ever had, possibly better. Even straining under the effort of churning the earth, he seemed relaxed, far more at ease than he had ever seemed in his past life. He was happy. It was more than she could have ever hoped for, a dream that she had never expected to live. They were here, _together_ , and they were happy. So why did she feel so…

Boromir paused to brush the hair from his eyes and he saw her. He smiled and Mel's thought went unfinished. She smiled back and stepped out of the shadows.

"I'm sorry I overslept," she said, "You should have woke me up."

"There was no need," Boromir said, leaning his shovel against the trunk of the tree and bending to the mulch, "I had hoped to have this finished before you noticed I was gone."

"I was going to help you," Mel said, as she dug her own hands into the mulch, "You didn't have to do it by yourself."

Boromir straightened and reached out his hand to stop her.

"You haven't been sleeping well, Melody," he said, his brow furrowed as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Mel dropped her eyes. She had been avoiding this for days, weeks, unwilling to spoil their happiness when it was only just beginning. It didn't seem fair, to see him so happy only to take it away again so soon.

"I've just been having dreams, that's all," she said, trying to brush it off.

"What sort of dreams?"

Mel sighed. She had known that Boromir wouldn't let it go. That was why she had been avoiding it. She guessed she couldn't avoid it forever, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

"It's Yavanna."

Boromir stiffened. His face remained impassive, like marble, but Mel knew this look. It was definitely not one of her favorites. He was angry.

"What does she want?"

Mel could feel the hostility in his voice, even though his tone remained even. He had every reason for it. The Valar had given them so much, but it had come at a cost.

"I don't know," she said, turning back to the mulch to keep her hands busy, "She keeps telling me there's something I need to do, but I don't know what it is. And I keep seeing this forest, familiar, like I've been there before, but I can't place it. And I hear voices…"

She paused, trying to remember what she'd heard.

"They're like tree voices, but they're speaking out loud, not in my head. Sometimes they're singing, but I can't ever remember the words."

Boromir was silent for a moment, radiating displeasure. Mel couldn't blame him. She wasn't exactly happy about it either. But even so, just thinking about it… It was as if a void she hadn't even realized was inside of her had suddenly started aching. It tugged at her, this unknown mission, in a way that nothing ever had. _Find that which you were born to seek…_ but what was she supposed to be looking for?

"What do you want to do?"

Boromir's voice was low and Mel knew he was trying very hard to remain neutral. But she knew that stony look on his face, the mask he wore when he was truly angry. Mel didn't want him to be angry. They were so happy here; she didn't want anything to disturb that. Not ever again.

"Nothing," she said, digging her hands into the mulch again, "Not now anyway, not until we know more. If they're going to speak in riddles, it can wait."

Boromir nodded. Together they finished turning the earth around the tree in comfortable silence, and then began the long, leisurely walk back to their little house. Boromir's face was creased, not in worry, but as if something was still on his mind. Mel reached out and took his hand.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

He paused.

"Faramir."

Mel felt her heart leap to her throat and she swallowed past it. After their resurrection and subsequent removal from the events that had constituted Tolkien's work, Mel had told Boromir everything, as best she could remember it. He knew of his father's madness and his brother's sufferings, of all that had and would befall the city of Minas Tirith, to the best of Mel's knowledge. He had mourned the death of his father, but the loss of his brother had lingered long after his mourning had passed. Faramir, though alive and well, was as lost to Boromir as if he had died in the war. Mel knew, better than anyone, what it was like to lose your family. Even knowing they were alive somewhere didn't lessen the pain of it. Sometimes, Mel wondered if it wasn't worse.

She squeezed Boromir's hand.

"What about him?" she asked.

Boromir shook his head, as if frustrated with himself, but he did not let go of her hand.

"More of the same. I worry about his stewardship, worry that he did not get the time and attention that was shown to me. I was groomed to take the white stave from the time I was a child. I was prepared, as well as I could be anyway. Faramir will make a fine Steward, finer than I could ever have been. He has the better temperament for it, I have always known this. But I worry that he has much to learn and not much time to learn it."

"Aragorn will take care of him," Mel assured him.

"While he himself takes on the governing of a kingdom recovering from years of war," Boromir said, "I worry almost as much for the king as I do for my brother."

And didn't that say something for the change that had been made in Boromir? Transformed from the man who had declared before the greatest lords that 'Gondor needs no king!' to the man who worried himself over the new ruler of his country as he worried over his own family. It made Mel feel a little better actually.

"They'll take care of each other," she said, linking her arm with his and tugging him closer until she had tucked herself to his side, "And if nothing else, I'm sure Eowyn will keep them all in line."

That elicited a small smile from Boromir, smoothing away the worry lines on his face.

"If anyone were equal to the task, it would be the Lady Eowyn," he said.

The small spark of light Boromir had found in the darkness of his loss was the knowledge that his brother had found his great love in the Shieldmaiden of Rohan. It lightened his face whenever it was mentioned. Mel had briefly entertained the idea of their returning to Minas Tirith for his brother's wedding. She was sure it would be several months from now, plenty of time to prepare for the journey… but it was only a dream, a fancy that she allowed in her mind, but never passed her lips. Because one look at Boromir's face, unchanged in any way from what it had been during the Quest, stopped the suggestion in her throat. If any of the soldiers Boromir had served with, or Aragorn, or god forbid _Faramir_ were to catch site of Boromir in Minas Tirith, Mel didn't know what might happen. At the very least, it would probably cause unnecessary distress. At worst… Well, Aragorn's reign was tenuous enough and Mel didn't want to find out what might happen if the presumed-dead son of the previous Steward suddenly returned.

No, they couldn't risk returning to Minas Tirith. Not now, at least. Maybe in a few years, when Boromir's face had passed out of memory and into legend, when Aragorn's kingship was more firmly established, when Faramir had removed to Ithilien with his new bride. Maybe then they would go back, just to see the sun gleaming from the gold-capped tower of Ecthelion, the banners of the returned king flying from the repaired battlements, the people in peace at last. Mel wanted to see it almost as much as she knew Boromir did. In a way, she felt like it had been her home too for a little while. And she longed to see it brought back to its former glory, the way it was meant to be.

But not now. Now was too dangerous. Later.

Now, arm in arm, she walked the rows of apple trees with her husband, the great love of her life, and she was nearly content. Somewhere deep in her chest the ache still lingered, a longing to be somewhere, to find something… but then they were home, their little house overlooking the orchard, and it was time to get dressed and properly greet this new day in this new life, far from the life she had lived as Melody Bernston, or even Melody Calenhiril. There was so much to do, and the work was good. Mel was happy. Maybe later they would discuss the Valar's quest, perhaps after harvest time, or maybe in the spring… but later. It would wait until later.

* * *

" _ **Son of Gondor!"**_

 _The deep, booming voice echoed in the blank whiteness that surrounded Boromir. He looked in all directions, and saw nothing. He knew that voice, the voice of death, the voice of Mandos. But instead of fear, a shot of fury pierced him at the sound of that hated voice._

" _Why do you call me by a title which you stripped away?" he shouted into the void, "Why do you disturb my peace and then refuse to face me?"_

" _ **That title is not tied to mortal birthright,"**_ _Mandos answered him,_ _ **"It is not a thing which can be wiped away, erased, or forgotten. It is a burning brand upon your heart and even now you feel it. As for my appearance…"**_

 _A dark form slowly melted out of the blank white before Boromir, large and imposing and only barely coalesced._

" _ **You should tremble in the presence of even this base form before you dare accuse me of cowardice."**_

 _The voice was calm, but Boromir could feel the darkness of its intent and it made him pause. When he spoke again, it was with chilling calm, rather than hot rage._

" _Why have you called me here?"_

" _ **You know why."**_

 _Melody. It was Melody that they wanted, that they_ always _wanted._

" _We have given you everything," Boromir said, "Is that not enough?"_

 _He had meant for the words to be angrier, but some of his sorrow, his loss, crept into his voice unbidden. For the first time since he was a child, he was truly happy. And now everything that he had worked and fought and bled for, everything that he had sacrificed to save, was to be taken from him again, as it had been so many times before._

 _When Mandos answered, his voice was gentler, and Boromir could imagine that somehow, his plight might have touched the Valar._

" _ **We do not seek more payment from you, Son of Gondor. The ledger of debt between us is cleared. I come on behalf of my sister, the Mother of the one you love, and she asks not for payment, but assistance for the remainder of her daughters who are lost in the world."**_

 _Despite his reluctance and despising of the Valar and all that they had done, Boromir's interest was piqued._

" _Other daughters?"_

" _ **The keepers of the forests, the shepherds of the trees, the children of Yavanna separated by leagues of grief and misunderstanding."**_

 _Shepherds of the trees… The Ents? But that meant…_

" _You wish us to seek out the Entwives."_

 _Even as the words left his lips, he knew they were true. If there was any task that would be set to Calenhiril, it would be to seek out the lost daughters of Yavanna, the lost wives of the Ents, the protectors of the forest._

" _ **My sister weeps for their loss,"**_ _Mandos said,_ _ **"And the Calenhiril feels it as well, though she may not yet know its true nature."**_

" _Why ask me?" Boromir said, "What need have you of my consent?"_

" _ **Because your consent is what the Calenhiril requires,"**_ _Mandos said_ _ **, "It is your happiness that hinders her from her purpose. She pushes her own feelings aside for yours, in all things. That is the nature of love."**_

 _She had been thinking of him. That was why it had taken her so long to reveal the nature of her dreams. Concern for him. What else had she been suppressing, keeping hidden even from herself?_

" _ **This is the charge that has been given to the Calenhiril, even since the beginning,"**_ _Mandos said,_ _ **"This is the purpose that was meant for her, the path she was meant to take. And now it is your charge as well."**_

 _The vision was fading. Boromir could feel wakefulness coming upon him, even as the last words of the Valar echoed in the void of his dreams._

" _ **Find the Entwives… Protect the Calenhiril… Do this, and you will find freedom…"**_

Boromir's eyes opened to darkness. It was still night. He could hear the chirping of cicadas, the hoot of an owl. He felt Melody's body pressed to him, his arm around her, her brown curls brushing his neck. He could feel her breathing, steady and peaceful. He took a slow breath through his nose and let it out carefully, so as not to disturb her sleep. She so rarely seemed to have peaceful sleep anymore.

Was that his fault? Was his anger, his resistance to the Valar, the reason for her disturbance? He could not stand the thought that he might, even unknowingly, be the cause of her discomfort, not now, not after everything they had faced and survived. He would do anything, _anything_ to ensure that she never suffered again. Even if that meant putting aside old grudges from a past life.

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, her hair soft on his lips. Despite his care, she stirred under his touch.

"We're going, aren't we?"

Her words were soft in the still night air, touched with the edge of sleep, but clear and sure. Boromir sighed and wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her closer to him.

"Yes, my love," he whispered.

She didn't say anything in reply, but she didn't have to. Her body relaxed against him and her contented sigh was all the answer Boromir needed.

* * *

The next morning, there were two, fully tacked horses grazing peacefully outside their door.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hello again, everyone! Thank you so much for the great reviews for the first chapter, I'm so glad that you all are just as excited about this as I am! :D I would like to take a quick minute to address something that was brought up in one of the reviews: the possibility of M-rated content. As you've probably figured out by now, Boromir and Mel are indeed married, and as a result, they are sharing a bed. However, I will not be exploring those intimate moments in any kind of detail in this fic. I appreciate a good M-rated fic (I've read plenty in my day ;P), but as a writer, I simply don't feel up to the task of writing these scenes and doing them any kind of justice. I'm a 'kiss and fade to black' kinda gal ;P If you would like some steamy Melomir in your life, I absolutely approve and even encourage the use of my characters and plotlines in separate fanfics, where you can explore that area to your heart's content! Please link to me or some part of the Changing History saga if you do this, and send me a message to let me know where to find it! Don't be shy, I'd be very interested to see what you guys come up with!

Okay, now that's out of the way, enjoy the next chapter!

 **Chapter Two**

From the moment Mel and Boromir had woken in the house the Valar had prepared for them, they had wanted for nothing. Their rooms were furnished, their clothes supplied, and their cupboards full (though not magically restocking, to Mel's disappointment). A few things also seemed to have 'followed' them from their previous lives. Boromir had his sword, his Lorien traveling cloak, and the belt of gold given to him by the Lady Galadriel. Mel had been left with the same gifts she had been given by Elladan and Elrohir the day she had embarked on a very different quest.

Mel slipped the lovely elven sword from its plain sheathe and turned it so the blade gleamed in the morning sunlight peeking through the bedroom window, the golden leaves engraved on the hilt throwing glimmers on the wall. She had believed it to be lost forever, somewhere in the forests bordering the Anduin, and yet here it was. She twirled it in her hand and smiled. It felt so light to her now, almost ephemeral, after the weeks she had spent learning sword play with the heavier Rohan blade. She snapped it back into its sheath and set it aside, reaching next for a drawer at the bottom of her wardrobe. It slid open easily and nestled in its depths, more precious even than the sword, was the cloak, Elrohir's cloak, which had seen her through so many dark days, pristine as ever, as if it had never been touched by hazard or grief.

As she brushed the soft wool against her cheek, Mel was struck by a profound loneliness. The twins wouldn't even know her now. All the long hours they had spent together, preparing Mel for the adventure she hadn't even known she would be taking, building the foundation of her sword skills (little as they were) that would save her life over and over again… None of it had happened. Were it not for this cloak, thick and solid in her hand, Mel feared that she might begin to forget, to believe it had been no more than a dream. And somehow that seemed worse than being forgotten by all the world. She was far more afraid of forgetting herself.

Boromir's step on the stairs brought Mel back to herself and she quickly stuffed the cloak into her bag before he stepped over the threshold. She didn't want him to see her like this, mourning old friends who had forgotten her. He had lost so much more than she, and he bore it so much better. She smiled up at him as he came into the bedroom.

"So, how are they?" she asked with a bit of forced brightness.

Boromir nodded.

"They are fine horses. A mare and a gelding. Strange that they should have wandered so far into the wild and remained unscathed."

"Maybe they belonged to the Rangers," Mel said, but she didn't sound convincing even to herself.

Boromir nodded distractedly, his brow furrowed. He was troubled by the sudden appearance of their good fortune. This wasn't the first time. The location of their orchard had been another.

It had taken a few days' worth of hiking, the use of Boromir's not-inconsiderable knowledge of Gondorian topography, and what little information Mel could gather from the forest trees (which was not always incredibly reliable and certainly difficult to decipher), to determine that their tiny valley was in _Ithilien_ of all places, nestled somewhere between the Anduin and the abandoned city of Emyn Arnen, miles away from civilization. This discovery had left Boromir pale with rage, but it had taken quite a bit of explanation before Mel really understood why.

Most of the country of Ithilien lay on the border between Mordor and the rest of Gondor, which meant it had seen the first action taken by Sauron and his armies. As a result, the entire country had been effectively abandoned for decades, wandered only by the Rangers. Well, the Rangers and the creatures they hunted, orcs and darker things, monsters of Sauron bent on destruction and death. There was no civilization, because none could survive here. And even though Sauron had fallen, his creatures still roamed the wilds, just as dangerous as ever.

And the Valar had dropped them right in the middle of it.

It had taken over a week's worth of relative quiet and restless nights before Mel was able to convince Boromir that Yavanna would not have saved them just to drop them into a trap. In all the time they had spent wandering the valley they had not once seen anything more dangerous than a curious fox. And once you factored out the danger, Mel couldn't think of a more perfect place to start over. No gossipy neighbors, no need for complicated explanations, and plenty of time to get established in their new life before they had to deal with the outside world. In a very weird way, it made sense and Boromir had reluctantly come to accept it too. It had also helped when Mel pointed out that if anything unfriendly got within a fifty mile radius, the trees would tell her. They weren't completely unprotected.

But despite his grudging acceptance of their situation, Boromir still held an inherent distrust of the Valar, a distrust that, though Mel understood it, she could not bring herself to share. Despite everything that had happened to them, that the Valar had seen fit to put them through, she still felt that it had all been for a purpose, something important. And she trusted Yavanna. She might not trust the others, but she trusted her, in the same way she had trusted her mother back home. Yavanna would not let harm come to her, not if she could help it. And she also knew, somehow, that this extended to Boromir as well. Whether he liked it or not.

So when Boromir looked as if he were about say something else, Mel raised herself up on her toes and pressed her lips to his to stop him. Then she smirked.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?"

He smiled at her and shook his head helplessly, but he didn't say anything else about the horses.

The decision was made and clearly they were being hurried along. But preparing for a journey like this wasn't quite as simple as deciding to go. In the evenings, Boromir and Mel sat together with a map between them and planned out their course. They weren't far from the border of Ithilien and Gondor, but they needed to cross the Anduin to reach the Great South Road. The safest crossing (relatively speaking) would be through Osgiliath, where repairs were well underway. The city was not yet inhabited by anyone other than the men working to rebuild the city, however it was likely to be well guarded against the remnants of Sauron's forces and it was highly probable that even attempting to pass through from the wrong side would look suspicious. But Boromir was not willing to risk looking for another crossing when it was entirely possible there were none left. Mel agreed with him. They would have to chance the encounter.

And that wasn't the only encounter they would have to chance. Once they were through Osgiliath, their next stop would have to be Minas Tirith. Despite Mel's strong misgivings about returning so soon, it was a stop they couldn't avoid. They had a few provisions, and in the last few weeks Boromir had been providing them with meat using a bow he had managed to hew himself (much to Mel's surprise), but even he had to admit that his skill left much to be desired. It made Mel miss… No, that still hurt too much and she quickly pushed the thought away. The point was they had enough to last the two or three day trip to Minas Tirith, but once they reached the White City they would have to barter for more supplies. They had very little in the way of possessions, so they quickly decided to forgo luxuries such as inns, which neither of them minded too much. They were both accustomed to sleeping outdoors on the road anyway, and with the balmy nights of summer still upon them, it wouldn't be much of a hardship. But even keeping that in mind, Mel knew they were probably cutting it pretty close. They had no idea how long this trip might last, or when they might make it back.

The truth was they barely knew where to start. Mel's dreams had ceased the moment they had agreed to go, leaving her with only the vaguest hint of an idea, an unidentifiable forest that she could barely remember, which wasn't very helpful. So Mel decided they should start somewhere she was familiar with, even if she had never _actually_ been there before.

"Fangorn Forest?" Boromir asked, skeptically, "Isn't that where...?"

"The Ents?" Mel finished, grinning, "Well… yeah. If we're looking for the Entwives, don't you think we should start by asking the only ones we _know_ have seen them? If anyone's going to have any clue, it'll be them."

Boromir nodded, but Mel could see his composure slipping just the slightest bit and she couldn't quite keep the hint of a smirk off her face. The last time they had encountered the Ents, Boromir had not been exactly comfortable. But he kept his objections carefully to himself, as Mel had known he would. They didn't have many other choices.

But even that route opened up a whole host of possible problems. Once they'd resupplied in Minas Tirith they would take the Great South Road, a track that was familiar to them, though Mel hadn't known its name when they'd traveled it before. It was the road that roughly followed the path of the signal beacons Gondor had used to call for Rohan's aid. But even though it was familiar, it would be much trickier now. They couldn't risk Boromir's face being recognized. Most of the soldiers probably wouldn't notice, or if they did, they wouldn't believe it. But Orodion, with his gift for reading the hearts of Men, was different. They would have to bypass the beacon at Eilenach altogether, which could prove dangerous.

But an even greater danger would come from the other parties traveling the Great Road at this time. Mel's memory of the timeline after the War was fairly sketchy, but she did know that a great party of people, including the remnants of the Fellowship, made a trek to Rohan along the Great South Road, which of course meant they were likely to travel back that way as well. So they were twice as likely to run into someone they knew who might recognize Boromir, but again there was no way to help it. They would just have to keep a sharp eye and hope for the best. Once they reached Fangorn Forest Mel felt confident they would be safe, but then their journey would have only just begun.

The whole thing was tedious, and Mel could feel it wearing on Boromir's nerves as well as her own. The more they tried to plan this trip (Mel had called it a quest once as a joke, but Boromir's stony glare had quickly put an end to that), the more it was revealing itself for what it truly was. A leap of faith. And that was just rubbing Boromir the wrong way. He tried not to show it and Mel tried not to push him, but the variables and the uncertainty were taking a toll.

"What do they expect us to do?" he asked, shoving out of his chair so suddenly that Mel jumped.

It had been a week of working through endless problems, imagining endless probabilities, each more irksome than the last. The light of a single candle, nearly burned out, flickered over Boromir's face as he sighed and ran a hand through his hair absently.

"This is not like the Fellowship, Melody," he said, frustration bleeding out of his voice, "We have no clear path, no income, no means of supporting ourselves. We don't even know where we're going, or what we might find when we get there."

Mel got to her feet and came around the kitchen table, slipping her hand through the crook of his arm and tucking herself into his side.

"Maybe we're not supposed to know," she said.

He looked down at her, and she smiled.

"So let's stop trying. Let's just go. Tomorrow. We know enough to get started. Let's just pack what we have and… _go_."

Boromir's eyes roamed her face for several moments, his brow furrowed, as if he might protest. But then the furrow smoothed away and he sighed, covering her hand on his arm with his own, enveloping her fingers in warmth.

"Very well, then," he said softly, "Tomorrow."

Mel felt her smile brighten. It was done. Whether it was a good idea or not didn't matter, because they were going, they were _finally_ going. A weight seemed to lift from the room and Boromir returned her smile with a small one of his own before he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, softly.

"No point in arguing with you anyway," he murmured.

* * *

The morning Mel and Boromir left the valley dawned bright and clear. It was sure to be a scorcher before midday, but there was still a chill on the air when they closed the door on their little house. Mel tried not to think of it as the last time, but there was a taste of finality on the air as she swung into the saddle of the roan mare. As they rode through the orchard, Mel took a moment to bid farewell to the trees, but they did not seem terribly surprised or distressed at her leaving. Mel thought for a second that maybe she should be offended, but instead she just felt relieved. The orchard, _her_ orchard, would be alright while she was gone.

They reached the rim of the valley just as the sun was peeking over the horizon and turned back, just for a brief moment, watching the golden light fall over the foliage of the dense trees. If you didn't already know the orchard was there, you would hardly be able to distinguish it from the rest of the forest. The house was completely hidden from view. It would be safe. They would come back and it would be safe.

They turned and made their way into the deep forest of Ithilien. The trail leading away from the valley was overgrown and hard to follow so they took their time, picking their path carefully through the trees. Mel's mind buzzed with the sounds of the forest, whispers and hushed mutterings, not all of them peaceful. Men were not the only ones capable of corruption. This place had seen war and death and darkness, had lived in the shadow of evil for too long, and some of it lingered. But she felt no hostility, only the seeds of it. There might be hope for this forest yet. Under a watchful eye and careful guidance… Maybe…

Just before noon, Boromir stopped suddenly and Mel was instantly on alert, her mind throwing out a call to the trees around them, testing the air for any danger. But Boromir only glanced back at her, and then motioned eastward.

"Emyn Arnen."

Over the tops of the trees where he pointed, Mel could just barely make out what looked like the cracked, crumbling battlements of a city. A little flock of birds took flight from one of the towers and spun a tiny circle before settling into the stones once more.

"The last stronghold of Ithilien," Boromir said, "Left to the forest. The Rangers use it now and then, but it was built to be so much more."

"Maybe it will be again," Mel said.

Boromir nodded.

"Perhaps. But I think it will be many years still before Ithilien is reclaimed. The shadows thrown by the eastern peaks are dark, and the memories of my people long. I fear we might not live to see Emyn Arnen reborn, or the beauty of the Ithilien forests restored."

"Maybe I can help with that."

Boromir finally turned from the ruined city to look at her, a skeptical expression. Mel shrugged and glanced at the trees around her.

"What? Yavanna dropped us here didn't she? There must be a reason. Maybe this is it."

Boromir smiled and shook his head.

"You are refreshingly optimistic, Melody, as always."

They turned away from Emyn Arnen, but Mel heard the rustle of the trees and heard their whispers in her ear.

" _I'll come back for you,"_ she answered them, _"I promise."_

They reached the bridge of Osgiliath just as the sun was touching the western horizon, but they doubled back into the woods and made camp in a small clearing out of sight. They were both nervous about entering the city, but Boromir seemed especially anxious. This would be their first contact with the outside world since their deaths and subsequent resurrections, and neither of them really knew what to expect. They worried that someone from his former life might see Boromir's face and recognize him. What sort of pandemonium that might inflict they weren't sure, but they had both agreed it was probably better if they didn't find out. So they camped in the woods rather than the city to minimize their chances.

The night was warm, so they didn't light a fire. They simply sat side by side together in the clearing and watched the night descend around them. A breeze whispered through the trees. The sky was clear and as it grew dark, stars began to twinkle into existence above them. Mel looked up and her eyes were immediately drawn to Eärendil, the brightest star in the sky. She smiled. It had been nearly a year since she and Boromir had laid in the grass of Rivendell together, looking up at the stars. It felt like a lifetime ago. And she supposed it probably was, actually. They had both lived, and loved, and died since then.

"You are just as beautiful as the day I met you."

Boromir's voice surprised her and she looked at him. He was smiling, his eyes bright and dancing in the pale light from the moon. Sometimes when he looked at her, his eyes were more blue than gray, like clear water. She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks and she smiled, knocking into his arm playfully.

"When you met me, I was wandering around the forest in jeans and sneakers, talking nonsense."

"True," he agreed, "But that made you no less lovely."

His smile widened and Mel laughed.

"Do you remember the night in Rivendell," he said, "When we looked up at the stars together?"

Mel stared at him for a moment, speechless. Things like this had been happening to them more and more frequently, their minds going to the same place without either of them realizing it, but Mel was always caught off guard by it.

"Yes," she said after a beat, "Yes, of course I remember."

"It was the night before the Fellowship was to depart on our quest. Do you remember what you asked me?"

Mel swallowed a lump that had started to form in her throat. Boromir's face was still and peaceful, but grave. It made a knot form in her stomach.

"I asked if you were afraid," she said.

"And now," Boromir said, "On the eve of your own journey, Melody, I would ask you the same question. Are you afraid?"

Mel realized now that she hadn't really even thought about it. She thought about it now, but still came to the same conclusion.

"No," she said, "I'm not."

She smiled and took his hand, squeezing his fingers playfully.

"Why should I be? I've got you."

For a long moment he just stared at her, blankly, as if he had never really seen her before. And then he pulled her close and kissed her, deeply, almost desperately, as if he were afraid she might disappear. The last time he had kissed her like that, she'd just come back from the dead. Mel wrapped her arms around his neck and held on to him, trying to reassure him with her touch and her kiss that she wasn't going anywhere, not ever again.

When they finally broke apart, Boromir pressed his forehead to hers and whispered breathlessly, "I'll watch your back…"

Mel grinned and answered, "…I'll watch yours."

The rest was lost to the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So, I realized today that if we were in Middle Earth, today would be the anniversary of Mel and Boromir's very first kiss! :D So guess what? You get a chapter today! Enjoy! :)

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

The next morning, Mel and Boromir rose with the dawn and rode to the bridge of Osgiliath. Just as they had anticipated, the gate was guarded and they approached the men in shining Gondorian armor with caution.

"Halt!"

One of the guards held up his hand, and Boromir and Mel came to a leisurely stop, waiting.

"Where do you hail from, strangers?"

"We are farmers," Boromir answered, "My grandfather, and his grandfather before him, held land in Ithilien before the War caused them to flee. We journeyed to see if anything might still be left to us, now that the great darkness of Mordor no longer holds sway."

The guard looked them both over and Mel had to remember not to hold her breath. Boromir had spoken the story they'd agreed upon with confidence and she was sure there was nothing to fear, but it seemed like the guard scrutinized them for far too long. Her horse tossed her head, and Mel put a hand on her neck to quiet her.

"You are brave indeed to journey thus into Ithilien so soon," the guard finally answered, "Though the source of the darkness has fallen, those who followed him still roam these lands aplenty. I hope what you found was worth such a risk."

"Not much, but enough that we might make our way, if left in peace," Boromir said, "Now we journey back to Minas Tirith to tell our families…" Boromir's voice hitched a bit and Mel glanced at him, but his face betrayed nothing, "…and prepare to return next spring, when we hope the land might be more peaceful yet."

"Such is the hope of all whose hearts remain in Ithilien, for such peace as might allow this land to thrive again," the guard said, stepping aside and waving them through, "Safe journey to you, sir."

Boromir nodded and they urged their horses over the bridge into Osgiliath. Mel was astounded at the progress that had been made in just the few short months since they had last been here. Soldiers and Ithilien Rangers walked the streets, alongside men in rough workmen's clothes who carried tools instead of weapons. The stonework along the main road was completely repaired. Osgiliath almost looked like a city again.

Boromir kept his head down and hurried them through the streets as quickly as possible. Mel could see in the stiffness of his back that he was anxious and she wanted to reach out to him, to reassure him in some way, but there was no opportunity for it. As soon as they left the outer gates behind them though, Boromir's whole posture relaxed. Mel was surprised that he didn't sigh out loud. They slowed from a trot to a steady walk and Mel finally spoke up.

"You know, you don't have to be so nervous."

Boromir glanced at her.

"Was it so obvious?"

"To me it was," Mel said, "I don't think anyone else was paying attention. It's not like anyone's looking for you, Boromir, you're not a wanted fugitive."

"My face is known to many men in Gondor," Boromir said, "If they were to see me-"

"-they would probably think they dreamed it and get on with their lives," Mel said, "Seriously Boromir, if you caught a glimpse of a man that looked like someone you _knew_ had died, you wouldn't call it out, you would sound crazy! I really don't think you have anything to worry about unless we run into your brother or something, and that's a long way off. You shouldn't worry so much."

"Says the woman who has done little but worry about the consequences of her existence since the moment I met her."

Mel opened her mouth to retort, but then closed it again, realizing she had not one leg to stand on.

"Okay, fair point."

Boromir grinned.

"I just don't want you to stress out about it before we have to," she insisted, " _If_ someone recognizes you, we'll handle it."

"You're reasoning is sound, Melody," Boromir conceded with a small nod, "I will try to bear it in mind."

There was a short pause.

"It is still strange for me," he said, "These two separate lives."

Mel shook her head, "I can't even imagine it, honestly."

"Can't you?"

Boromir looked at her and Mel realized that he wasn't kidding.

"You have lived two lives as well, Melody," he said, "I know that you have not forgotten the world from which you came. Those memories, memories of my own past that you read about in your previous life, they never left you, even as they changed around you. That is how it feels. As if my story has been rewritten and I am left with two versions of the same truth. In a way, I can now understand exactly how you felt when you first came to us."

Mel had never thought of it that way before. This was something they shared now, knowledge of the world that no one else would ever have. She actually knew exactly how Boromir felt.

"Well, if it's any consolation, it gets easier," she said.

"I take strength in knowing that you have walked this path before me, Melody, and walked it alone, where I now have you as a companion," He smiled fondly at her, "I have always known you were the stronger of us. I rely on your strength now, as I ever have."

Mel rolled her eyes.

"I've never been all that strong."

"Just because you do not know your strength, does not mean it is not there. You have proven it many times, though you often refuse to see it."

"Well, I guess you're just going to have to keep reminding me."

"I intend to spend the rest of my life doing exactly that."

They shared a smile for exactly five seconds, before Boromir's gelding tossed his head and snorted, breaking their gaze. Mel laughed.

"I think he's restless," she said, "Want to race it out of him?"

"The last time we raced, you cheated," Boromir said, tugging the gelding back into line.

"I did not cheat!" Mel said, "It's not my fault you weren't paying attention."

"I had more pressing matters on my mind at the time, such as insuring our survival," Boromir answered, "And taking advantage of that was cheating."

"Okay, that's it; we're settling this once and for all."

Mel glanced around. The road was clear, but she could just make out a clump of trees ahead and she pointed them out.

"There. First one to the trees wins. You can even signal the start."

Boromir reined the gelding up and Mel did the same with her mare. The horses shuffled and danced beneath them, sensing something about to take place. Boromir took a moment to survey the area and Mel let him, remembering that the last time they had raced had not ended very well, not just because she had "cheated". She let her eyes wander to the fields around them for a moment, letting her mind stray to the trees, searching for the sound of their voices, but they were still a little too far away…

"Very well."

Boromir's words cut through her thoughts and before she could even turn to look at him, he kicked at his horse and was gone, streaking down the road in a cloud of dust.

"Son of a…"

Mel kicked at her mare, who leapt forward with a speed and grace that surprised and delighted her. The wind whipped at her hair as she leaned over the mare's neck, keeping her eyes fixed on Boromir's back as he raced in front of her, his ill-gotten lead never dwindling. Their horses seemed to be quite evenly matched. Mel smirked. Sneaky bastard…

A few minutes later Boromir pulled up and brought his horse around the stand of trees at a canter to meet her. He was smirking.

"I win," he said.

Mel opened her mouth to inform him that he had cheated, but she gave up before she even started. She shook her head, grinning.

"You're an ass."

Boromir laughed, deep and powerful, and Mel laughed with him because when he laughed like that she didn't have a choice.

They rode all day and came within sight of Minas Tirith just as the sun was setting on the horizon. They saw a grove of trees set back from the road and decided to camp there and venture into the city in the morning. But as they approached the trees, recognition slammed into Mel almost like a physical force and she pulled up short. Boromir stopped and glanced back at her, his face suddenly lined with concern.

"Melody? Are you alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

That was exactly how it felt, like she was seeing a ghost. Her stomach twisted and she swallowed, trying to loosen her dry throat.

"This is…"

Her voice cracked. She swallowed again.

"This is where we buried him."

Sudden recognition bloomed on Boromir's face as well. He edged his horse beside her and took her hand.

"Melody," he said, gently, "He isn't here. It never happened."

At first, Mel didn't understand what he was saying. Because this… this was the grove of trees where they had buried the Sentry after the Battle of Pelennor Fields, where he had been separated from his brother, lost forever. This was a graveyard. How could he say…?

But then she remembered. That had happened because of her. He had died because of her, because she had come to Minas Tirith and had interfered with what she knew. Because of her, the Sentry had died… only he hadn't. She hadn't come to Minas Tirith. She had never passed through the gates, never spoken to the Steward, never asked for those sacrifices. None of that had happened. It was only in her memories. And this was just a grove of trees.

"Are you alright?" Boromir asked, his face still concerned.

Mel took a deep breath and straightened in her saddle.

"Yeah," she said, "Yeah, I'm okay. Let's go."

Together they passed under the familiar branches of trees that Mel had never met and she spent the night listening to their quiet chatter, trying not to remember the day there had been nothing but silence.

* * *

The next morning, as they passed through the gates of Minas Tirith (mixed in with a group of merchants they had met on the road) Mel was again pulled up short by the painfully familiar dual voice that echoed in her head.

" _Welcome to the White City, Calenhiril. We are the Sentries of the Great Gate."_

For a long while all Mel could do was stare, frozen in the middle of the road as the merchants passed by around her. The destroyed metal of the gate had been cleared away, replaced by wooden barriers that had to be moved to let traffic through. And on either side of the ruined gate, well out of the way of any danger or damage, were the trees. Two tall, beautifully whole trees standing watch over the gate. Mel's breath caught in her throat and she could not find her voice, not even in her mind.

" _Calenhiril? Why do you weep?"_

"Miss?"

Mel jumped and swiped at the tears that had slipped down her cheeks. The guard standing by her horse's head looked up at her, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Miss, are you alright?"

The road was empty. The merchants had gone on without her and she was left in the middle of the deserted road, crying over apparently nothing. But the guard didn't seem suspicious or angry. His voice was kind as he gave her a sad smile.

"It's alright, miss," he said, "The darkness has touched all of us."

Mel returned his smile, but she didn't have the heart to tell him that her tears were ones of happiness rather than sorrow. The Sentries were still whispering in her head, together as they had always been.

" _Calenhiril, are you alright? Is there anything we can do?"_

As the guard released her horse's bridle and she passed under the arch of the gate, she whispered back to them.

" _Don't worry, I'm fine. Everything's fine. It's exactly as it should be."_

Boromir was waiting for her in the shadow of an alley not far from the gate. He didn't say anything as she dismounted and when she tried to apologize, he stopped her.

"You've nothing to explain to me, Melody," he said, "I know."

He slipped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head, a gesture that was so endearing Mel couldn't help but smile. Then he tied her horse next to his own and took her hand, leading her out into the street.

There were several carts already lined up along the road and more coming in, with people milling around and haggling prices, but Boromir led Mel right through the market without stopping at all. Instead he turned down an alley lined with shops, most of them not even opened yet. On the corner of what looked like the end of the merchant district and the beginning of a poorer part of town, stood a small building, a bit rundown and with no sign out front. The only indication that it might even be a shop was the large front window, which displayed a strange disarray of odds and ends. There was a crack in the glass, but it was wiped clean. Boromir hesitated just outside the door and glanced back at Mel.

"The man who owns this place is known to be a bit rough," he said, almost apologetically, "I have never been here myself, but I remember the men spoke of him often. Not precisely a law-abiding citizen in all respects, but fair. I only hope he hasn't left the city."

Mel rolled her eyes and smiled.

"There's no need to worry about my delicate sensibilities, Boromir," she said, taking his hand, "I was a poor kid once, living on my own. I've seen my fair share of unsavory pawn shops."

And before he could protest any further, Mel pushed the door open and slipped inside, tugging Boromir behind her.

The familiar sound of a tinkling bell as they entered gave Mel even more confidence that she knew what she was dealing with. The inside of the shop appeared to be a single room, shelves lining the walls, and every bit of empty space piled high with an assortment of unidentifiable junk. The man behind the counter at the back, looked as if he might have been a soldier himself once upon a time. He was tall and broad, with scraggly red hair and a beard streaked with gray, a dirty patch covering his right eye. Though most of his bulk seemed to have turned to flab over time, he still looked fairly imposing and Mel was more than happy to let Boromir approach the counter while she stopped to 'examine' a pile of metal boxes on the wall.

"Good morning, sir! What can I do ya fer?"

The shop keeper's voice was so overwhelmingly friendly and pleasant that Mel found herself giving him a second, longer look. He was smiling widely, showing a few missing teeth, and the eye that wasn't patched over twinkled with a merry green light underneath the limp strands of his thin hair. Mel wasn't quite sure if it was the spark of genuine friendliness or the shine of a con artist. She supposed they would soon find out.

Boromir reached into his bag and pulled out the golden belt given to him by the Lady Galadriel in Lothlorien. Mel felt a twinge of uneasiness seeing it laid out on that scratched and dingy counter top. It seemed like such a waste, pawning off Boromir's gift from the Galadrim, but she knew there wasn't really any other way. They needed the money for supplies and they didn't have anything else they could afford to trade. In a weird way, Mel wondered if this might have been meant to happen all along. It was something that had always seemed strange in the books, Galadriel giving Boromir that belt. Each member of the Fellowship had received a special gift, something significant or useful. But the golden belt had always seemed like a cop-out, something pulled out of a pile and handed over with no meaning or thought behind it. But maybe… just _maybe_ Galadriel had seen something, had somehow sensed that there would be a need for it, without ever realizing the full scope of the story.

After a little bit of wide eyed staring and a long bit of haggling, a price was reached that both parties apparently felt they could live with. A bag of heavy coin was counted and exchanged for the belt, and then they were back out on the street, headed back in the direction of the market.

"What's a castar?" Mel asked, pulling the strange word out of the conversation she had overheard.

Boromir smiled and pulled a gold coin out of the bag. When he handed it to her she nearly dropped it. It was a lot heavier than it looked.

"Coin of the realm," Boromir said, "There's the castar and the tharni, which is a quarter of a castar's worth."

"So, a castar is a lot?" Mel asked, turning the coin over in her hands.

Boromir shrugged, "I suppose."

Mel nodded and continued to look over the coin. It really wasn't that much different than a coin back home, only super-sized, fitting snuggly in her palm. On one side was stamped the profile of a man she didn't recognize, on the other the symbol of the king, a tree with a crown and seven stars. There were some runes as well, stamped along the edges.

"Who's the guy?" Mel asked, flipping the coin back over to study the profile.

"Eänur, the last King of Gondor," Boromir said, "The coins were first cast after he was lost, under the rule of his Steward, Mardil Voronwë."

He leaned over her shoulder and tapped at the runes.

"Until The King's Return," he said, "The vow of the Ruling Stewards."

Mel smiled and turned the coin over again, weighing it out, getting used to it. They made their way back to the market, where Boromir proceeded to haggle prices. They needed at least a week's worth of supplies to get them to Rohan and Boromir didn't seem to be taking any chances. They also got bigger packs for the horses, a dagger for Mel to wear with her sword, and a new bow for Boromir, expertly crafted.

"Now you can't blame the bow if you miss," Mel teased, bumping her arm into his.

He grinned down at her, "I am no elf, Melody, I am quite aware of my limitations in this particular area."

Mel swallowed and forced the smile to remain on her face, pretending he hadn't just reminded her of… but it didn't matter, she put it away.

"A new dress for the lady?"

The old woman's cry drew Mel's attention despite herself. She was standing by a cart of clothes, plain but pretty and nicely made as far as she could tell, but she only smiled and waved away the fine skirt the woman was holding out toward her.

"No, thank you, not today."

"Oh but won't you be needing one for the Steward's wedding, dear? Must show up in our best!"

Mel's heard skipped a beat and she felt Boromir stiffen beside her. She turned back around.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Well the Steward's getting married, dear, didn't you know? To that young horse maiden of Rohan. Just announced this past week, in Edoras, riders brought word not three days ago!"

The old woman was so pleased to be the first to share this bit of news that she didn't seem to notice her audience wasn't exactly thrilled to hear it. Boromir had kept his back to the woman, pretending to be examining some pottery or something, but Mel could feel his tension. She managed to work up a smile for the old woman and took Boromir's hand.

"Well, that's wonderful news. Thank you, perhaps we'll be back for that dress."

Before the woman could protest, Mel turned and practically dragged Boromir away. She didn't want to be here anymore. Boromir had gone stiff and distant, his nerves apparent as his eyes darted here and there, like he was just waiting for someone to jump out and accuse him of… of what? Existing? Mel didn't know, but she was pretty sure that the market was now the last place either of them wanted to be.

They finally managed to find their way back to the horses and began to pack up. It was just past noon and the sun was beating down on them. Even in the shadow of the alley it was hot. Boromir didn't say a word. He worked quickly and silently, but Mel was worried. What was going through his mind right now? Faramir's marriage to Eowyn was not news to them, but Mel could still see the loss in his eyes, the pain that being separated from Faramir brought to him, and she longed to help him. She tried to reach out and take his hand.

"Boromir…"

But he pulled away from her and only whispered, "Not here."

Mel felt her heart sting, but she didn't say anything. They packed up the horses and rode out of the city onto the Great South Road. For a long while they didn't speak, but finally Mel couldn't stand it.

"Maybe we'll make it back in time for the wedding," she suggested softly, "There's sure to be lots of people there. If we stay in the crowd…"

But Boromir was already shaking his head.

"It will be a royal affair, too many in the White City on that day would know my face. If any of them were to catch even a glimpse…"

He was right of course, Mel knew he was right, had always known, but that didn't make it hurt any less. They fell silent again and Mel did not break it this time. She waited for Boromir to speak, if he wanted to talk about it at all.

After a long time, after Mel had given up hope that he would say anything…

"How did you do it, Melody?" he whispered.

"Do what?"

He looked over at her with sad desperation in his eyes.

"How did you let your family go?"

It was like Mel had been punched in the stomach. She didn't know what to say and even if she had, she couldn't have said it. She had no air in her lungs. She was drowning in feelings that she had tried so hard to forget, to put aside, to never think about again. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I didn't."

They didn't speak again that day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

They kept a quick and steady pace their first few days on the Great South Road, camping among the trees just off the track and bypassing the beacons at both Amon Din and Eilenach without incident. It had been agreed that coming into contact with Orodion at Eilenach would not be in their best interests. The big, friendly Warden had known Boromir since childhood and was sure to recognize him, and even had that not been the case, his gift for reading Men's hearts would surely have given them away. Mel could still vividly remember the large man's piercing eyes and the way he had ripped open her mind like an onion, and that had been when she had nothing to hide. She had no desire to repeat the experience, especially not with the secrets she now held.

But even though she understood and even agreed with their reasons for avoiding the beacon outposts, Mel still felt the absence of the Wardens' protection keenly those first few nights. She remembered the danger these foothills had held for them not too long ago and every noise in the night made her jump. She and Boromir took watches in shifts, but while Boromir seemed not in the least bit affected by the night and would drop off to sleep easily, Mel had a difficult time getting any rest at all, even with the trees whispering comforting reassurances.

On the third day, Boromir made a turn into the woods, but when he said the name of the next beacon, Mel balked, pulling her mare up sharply. Boromir quickly realized she was no longer following him and turned to look at her curiously.

"Melody? What's wrong?"

She swallowed a lump in her throat.

"Nardol," she said, hoarsely, "Vanion was the Captain of the Nardol Beacon."

Boromir's face flew through a range of expressions before it settled into the stony mask that Mel was so familiar with. He nodded and turned back toward the road without another word. Mel thought she had never felt more relieved. She was tired, and wanted a bed and hot food as much as he did, but there was nothing, in this world or any other, that could entice her to risk facing the fair-haired Captain again. So they camped one more night in the forest, Boromir taking her in his arms and pressing gentle kisses to her temple, whispering soft 'I love you's in her ear.

The beacon at Erelas was next and when Boromir turned off the main road the next evening, Mel didn't even think about protesting. Her tired eyes and growling stomach wouldn't allow it. She followed Boromir deeper and deeper into the woods, until finally the trees whispered:

" _They are here, Calenhiril."_

Mel came to a gentle stop and, after a moment, Boromir noticed and circled back to her. He met her eyes and she jerked her head toward the woods.

"They're here."

Boromir raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak there was a rustle in the trees and a young man, dressed in green with a bow slung across his back, stepped out of the shadows.

"Greetings strangers," he said with a friendly sort of caution about him, "Where do you hail from and to where are you traveling?"

"I am Esgalion of Minas Tirith," Boromir said, using a name they had decided on earlier, and then gestured to Mel, "My wife, Lindel."

Mel felt a tiny thrill as she realized this was the first time Boromir had ever introduced her as his wife. His _wife!_ She had to try really hard not to grin like an idiot, gripping her hands tightly on her reins, the metal of the silver ring on her left hand biting into her finger.

"We travel along the Great South Road to Edoras, and thought that the Wardens of Erelas might provide a bed and a warm meal on our journey."

Boromir's voice was confident, but Mel noticed that he didn't want to look directly at the young man, shying almost imperceptibly from his steady gaze. Had he always been such a terrible liar? Or was it just that the lie now encompassed him, as well as her, that was making him uncomfortable? Trying to make up for Boromir's sudden case of nerves, she met the young man's eyes and smiled. The warden smiled back at her and bowed.

"I am called Ferion" he said, "We welcome travelers often into our camp in these days of peace. We would be glad to provide you with shelter and break bread with you, my lord."

Boromir hesitated and Mel glanced at him. His back had stiffened and he had tensed in his saddle. Why was he so jumpy? Covering for his lack of manners, Mel broadened her smile to the young warden and inclined her head to him.

"We thank you for your kindness, Ferion," she said, in her warmest and most respectful voice. She was surprised when it actually came out exactly as she meant it.

He returned her smile and it made his face look almost boyish. He couldn't be much older than sixteen, Mel realized with a start. She hoped the shock and tiny bit of horror that she felt didn't show on her face.

"It is my pleasure, my lady," he said, "Come, allow me to show you the way."

Boromir seemed to have recovered from whatever had shocked him into stillness and they dismounted together to follow the warden. Mel noticed, as only she could, that the trees seemed to retreat for Ferion, brushing his clothes as they whispered in her ear. The forest liked him. He was kind and respectful. He was brave and good. He was young. So very young. Mel was suddenly very happy that he was here, out among the trees who loved him, rather than back in Minas Tirith. Would he have survived had he been there instead? How many boys his age had been lost on the walls of the White City? Or the fields of Pelennor? Or the desolation of the Morannon? Or in any number of unnamed skirmishes throughout Gondor in the hundreds of years that Sauron had lurked in Mordor, biding his time?

Mel wanted to reach out and take Boromir's hand, to repel the heaviness of her thoughts with the touch of his skin. But he was walking on the other side of his horse and she couldn't reach him, not without painfully obvious maneuvering. So she swallowed the feeling and pressed on, watching the tendrils of green branches brush and cling to Ferion as he passed through the forest. She wanted to tell the boy how special he was, how much he was loved, but knew that she couldn't, which sent another pang of sadness through her. The trees felt her distress and tried to come closer, to curl slowly into her hair and clothes, so much more intimate than they dared to touch Ferion. But she had to push them away. It wouldn't do to walk into the camp of Erelas with the forest undulating around her. So the trees retreated to a safe distance, but she could still hear their whispers in her head.

" _Do not despair, Calenhiril. Do not let sorrow burden your heart. We are here. We are here."_

It comforted her marginally, but she still felt a sadness that she couldn't seem to shake. It followed her into the camp of Erelas, where she smiled and greeted the wardens of the beacon as kindly as she could. And she found that she was doing most of the greetings herself. Boromir retreated into himself almost the second they set foot in the camp. He shied away from all but the most brief and curt encounters, avoiding long conversations or even long looks with anyone. It was so strange for Mel, to remember the last time they had visited a beacon and how out of place she had felt, as if she were trespassing on some men's only club, to remember how at ease Boromir had been and to see him now, withdrawn and cautious, polite but only barely. Mel was caught trying to supplement most of the conversation, but she feared she probably fell short. None of the men seemed to mind, but it certainly was not the same as when they had last visited a beacon camp.

Food was served and consumed, and then the two of them were shown to a cabin and left to their own devices. A cabin they would share. Mel tried to keep from blushing, remembering how incredibly awkward it had been last time, traveling together, unmarried. Now hardly anyone seemed to bat an eye. It was a relief, really, but she definitely wasn't used to it. For the first time, she considered how new she was to all of this, being married. She was _married._ How strange that the realization should hit her now, when she had so little time to process it.

As soon as the door was closed, Boromir seemed to deflate, sinking down onto one of the beds and bowing his head for a moment, taking a deep breath. Mel sat next to him and cautiously took his hand.

"What's wrong?" she asked in a hushed voice.

Boromir shook his head, but that wasn't an answer. Mel covered his clenched hands with her own and squeezed.

"Tell me," she said, "You've been acting weird all night. What is it?"

There was a pause and Mel gave him a moment to collect whatever thoughts he had.

"I…" he began, and his voice was thick, "I never thought… I did not think it would be this difficult."

Mel squeezed his hands again, reassuringly. Boromir took another long breath, deep and slow.

"They really don't know me," he whispered, "They don't know who I am. They will never know me. I will never be more than a passing farmer, a fading memory, an old legend. I am all of those things now, but they will never know. No one will ever know. I don't…"

He clenched his hands together tightly, and then relaxed again.

"I don't know who I am supposed to be, Melody," he said, finally looking up at her, "I feel it, who I was, what I was, but I know I am not that man anymore. I no longer hold a lord's title, but when I look inside myself, I don't feel like any less. What am I supposed to be?"

Mel felt her shoulders sag. She brushed his hair back from his face and pressed a kiss to his temple.

"You are Boromir," she whispered, "You are Esgalion. Those two men are one and the same, and they are whoever you want them to be. Your name doesn't matter. You are who you choose to be, and you shouldn't be afraid of that. Just be who you are, and everything else will fall into place," she smiled, "And if you need a place to start, you are the man I love. You can build around that."

Boromir smiled up at her, a tender, beautiful smile that made her heart melt. He took her hands and pulled them up to his lips.

"That is a good place to begin," he whispered, just before he kissed her.

* * *

They didn't stop at any of the other beacons. It was just too stressful, and there was too much chance of them being noticed, especially at Calenhad and Halifirien, where some of Boromir's old acquaintances were still stationed. So they traveled the nearly deserted road during the day and camped under the stars at night, and despite Mel's anxiety they saw not a single hint of trouble. It was almost too good to be true… which made Mel even more nervous. Things never went this well for them.

They were nearing the end of their journey, traveling through the woods that surrounded the Halifirien beacon, when the trees alerted Mel to something ahead.

" _A party approaches, Calenhiril."_

Mel stopped immediately and called out, "Boromir, wait!"

Boromir pulled up and brought his gelding around, his eyes alert and shifting to the trees.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," she said, trying to glean more information from the trees' whispering, "Someone's coming. A big group of men on horseback, I think."

"Traders?"

Mel shook her head, "I don't think so. Soldiers maybe? They're shiny metal men…" Boromir looked at her sideways and she shrugged, "That's what they keep calling them."

"If they are in Gondorian armor, they could be the delegation returning from Edoras," Boromir said.

"What should we do?" Mel asked him, "They're coming up pretty fast."

Boromir hesitated for only a moment before he nodded his head toward the woods.

"Better to avoid attention, don't you think?"

Mel nodded and they turned their horses into the brush. They found a stand of trees just a little ways off the road and dismounted, tying their horses to let them graze, and then settled in to wait for the approaching party to pass.

They didn't have to wait long. The sound of plodding hooves approached and the first few riders passed by at a stately walk, carrying the standard of the King, fluttering above them.

And then the king himself came into view.

Mel had to cover her mouth to keep from gasping out loud. It was Aragorn. They hadn't seen him in months, and even then they hadn't always been on the best of terms, but it was _Aragorn_ , right there, walking by in front of them and, despite everything she knew to be true in her logical mind, every instinct she had wanted to jump up and yell, to wave and laugh and run out to greet him. Because despite everything that had happened, Aragorn was her friend and, without even knowing it, she had missed him. He turned to say something to one of the armored soldiers riding close by. Mel couldn't hear what was said in reply, but whatever it was made Aragorn laugh, and the sound rang through the trees, making Mel's heart leap in her chest. He looked good, stately and happy and, all in all, like a king, but there was still a bit of him in his laugh that reminded Mel of the Ranger he had once been.

And then another laugh echoed in her ears and Mel's blood froze. Faramir walked into view, riding just a few paces behind Aragorn, and he was just as handsome and charming as she remembered. Her heart suddenly ached. She reached for Boromir's hand and found that it was shaking in her grasp. She tore her eyes from the passing delegation to watch his face, but it was blank. She couldn't read the emotions that had to be boiling just beneath that mask and she hated it. She wanted to see what he was feeling, to know what he was thinking, to be able to do something, _anything_ to help ease the pain he had to be feeling. His brother was there, not twenty paces from them, and he couldn't call out to him, couldn't reach him. He was as lost to Boromir as if he were a ghost, watching the procession through a veil.

Faramir laughed again and Mel felt Boromir's hand jerk in hers. She squeezed it tightly and he squeezed back. Whatever she had felt, whatever instincts she had fought when Aragorn had passed by, they were nothing compared to this, this deep ache that Mel felt now. For the hundred millionth time, she silently raged to whatever gods or Valar might be listening about how completely unfair it all was. Boromir shouldn't have to suffer this way, not for her. He should never have had to choose between her and his family. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair and until her dying day she would rage about it. Mel had lost friends, sure, and she felt their loss keenly, every day. But Boromir had lost everything, and now here it was, parading by under his very nose, and there was nothing she could do to make it right.

Aragorn and Faramir passed out of view, along with several other soldiers on horseback, and then there was silence. Neither Mel nor Boromir moved from their hiding place. Mel was determined that she wouldn't move, not until Boromir decided he was ready. She couldn't give his family, his _life_ , back to him, but she could allow him whatever time he needed to mourn them. Even if they stood in that same group of trees for the rest of their lives, she could allow him that.

But it didn't take that long. After a few moments of heavy silence, Boromir let go of her hand and wordlessly untied the horses. They mounted and started back down the road in silence. Mel wanted to say something, but everything she thought of was horribly inadequate. What did you say to someone who has lost everything?

"He was happy."

Boromir's voice cut through the silence and Mel looked up. His eyes were focused somewhere in the distance, but his face was no longer a mask hiding his emotions. A sad resignation had settled over his features and that, more than anything, broke Mel's heart.

"I am glad I was able to see that he's happy," he said.

Mel managed a small smile, and reached out to take his hand again.

"Yeah," she said, "Me too,"

She wasn't sure she meant it. But it was all that she could say.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Though Mel hated to admit it, the rest of the ride to Edoras was decidedly less stressful without the threat of recognition hanging over them. Boromir seemed determined not to mention or think about his brother again, and Mel couldn't really blame him. So instead she rambled about the Ents and the Entwives, spouting theories and snatches of half remembered stories that Boromir listened to patiently, but chose not to contribute to, explaining that he wished to remain open-minded on the subject, content to listen to her thoughts until more information was presented.

Time passed pleasantly enough and they reached Edoras on the evening of the second day, too late to move on. Though Mel questioned the decision, Boromir insisted that they take a room at an inn for the night.

"No one who knows me will come here, Melody," he assured her, smiling as if she were a child, "Everyone I know in Edoras will be busy at the Meduseld Hall. They would have no reason to venture among the common folk."

He was right of course and Mel knew he was right, but she was tired and grouchy and his patronizing tone made her want to resist, just to spite him. She hmphed and crossed her arms stubbornly, prepared to argue with him, but to her surprise her frown only made his smile widen. He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.

"You are lovely when you're cross," he murmured, a laugh hidden just beneath his words.

Mel rolled her eyes and shoved him away.

"Shut up," she said, breaking into a reluctant smile despite herself.

And after a warm meal in a crowded room and just a couple mugs of Rohirric ale, Mel had to admit the bed was very, very nice.

They were up early the next morning, riding out of Edoras just a little after sunrise. They followed the road until they crossed a shallow river, which Boromir called Snowbourn, leaving the familiar trod of the road and turning due north.

The plains stretched before them, barren of anything but dry grass and boulders, but it was the most direct route to Fangorn Forest, putting them within a day's ride of the outskirts. Mel felt a bit of excited tension at the thought of being so close. Would Treebeard know her? He might not remember their encounter from before time was reset, but surely he would still _know_ her in the same way he had known her the first time they'd met. 'Little sister' he had called her then and she smiled fondly at the memory. What would he be able to tell her about the Entwives? He knew something, Mel had read something about… a song or a poem? But she couldn't remember the words now. It had been a long time, after all, since she'd read the story. She had been living it instead.

The morning stretched on into noon, and past noon. Mel's head was empty of tree voices now, and she was filling it instead with wonderings and daydreams. Which is why she didn't really notice when Boromir rounded a large rock formation and passed out of sight. And why she was caught completely off guard by the orc that fell on her from above.

The gangly black creature hit her squarely in the back, tearing her off her horse with a piercing scream. But rather than panic, her mind slammed into a crystalline clarity and she hit the ground grabbing at her belt. She rolled to her knees, her new Gondorian dagger clutched in her hand, and before the orc could reorient himself, his throat was split open, black blood splattering Mel's hands and face. It was a sticky, gruesome sensation she had hoped never to feel again.

She whirled, her senses still hyper alert, and was faced with five more orcs, slinking toward her in a semi-circle. They didn't seem to be in any hurry, grinning over crooked teeth, one flicking his tongue like a snake, as if testing the air. They were ragged and thin and Mel felt bile working its way up her throat at the sight of them.

"Well then," a larger one said, his voice hoarse and wet sounding, "This one's got a bit o' fight in 'er, haven't she?"

"Don't even think about running, dearie, no, no, no!" said a little one in a singsong chitter that dissolved into an almost girlish giggle.

The rest said nothing, closing in on her one painstaking step at a time. Mel took carefully matching steps back until she felt her heel scrape the rock face behind her. There was nowhere else to go. She could hear metal clanging somewhere in the distance and her eyes flicked over the shoulders of the orcs, her line of sight blocked by the boulders that surrounded them like a maze. Boromir was out there, and she knew the rest of the orcs wouldn't be toying with him, like these were with her. These five must have thought she would be an easy lunch and left the hard work to the rest of their group. How many was it? Ten? Twenty? And Boromir trying to hold them, all alone. Mel let her eyes fall back to the group surrounding her, flitting from one to another, trying to ascertain some advantage. But there were five of them. Even dumb orcs were dangerous at five to one.

" _Yavanna, where are you?"_ she thought desperately.

Her dagger was sticky in her hand, and she dropped it to the ground. It wouldn't do her any good here. The orcs tittered around her and closed in again, one licking his lips, another letting a line of drool dangle from a gross under-bite. Mel felt a sinking sort of calm and she let a small smile curve her lips. If these idiots thought she was going to just lay down and die, they had another thing coming.

In one smooth motion, Mel drew her Elvish blade and charged, slicing smoothly through the gut of one orc and slipping through the hole in the circle created by his death. But before she could make a clean break, another of the orcs grabbed her shoulder, his dirty claws ripping through shirt and flesh. The pain was searing and Mel felt a flash of white hot fury. She whipped her sword around and cut his throat, almost severing his head from his shoulders.

She could feel blood dripping from her fingers, _her_ blood, but she barely had time to let it register before the other three orcs were on her. She managed to slice through two of them, but the third slipped under her blade and slammed into her middle, tackling her to the ground. Her head cracked against a buried stone and starbursts exploded in her eyes. She gasped for air, trying to blink away the pinpoints of light and the gray edges of her vision, but the orc was on top of her, pinning her sword arm and mashing a bony knee into her torn shoulder. His high-pitched cackles ripped the air as she screamed.

"Told you not to run, didn't I, didn't I? Told you, told you!" he screeched, his eyes bugging out of his skull as he peered down at her and licked his cracked teeth with a black, forked tongue, "Lunch time, lunch time!"

Through the tears in her eyes, Mel could see the curved blade in his hand, raised and ready to lodge itself in her throat, as she had cut the throats of so many of his kind. She fought, trying to pull herself up through the pain, but he held her fast.

"Stop squirming, hold still, hold-"

A feathered shaft pierced his throat and cut him off. He gurgled once, a look of almost comical wide-mouthed shock on his face, and then he fell, spread over Mel like a black blanket. She gasped, and then choked as the stench of him filled her mouth and nose. She mustered all of her strength and rolled him off of her, coughing and trying to suck fresh air back into her lungs, closing her eyes to fight off nausea, caused either by the stink or the throbbing pain of her shoulder or the pounding pressure in her head or some combination of…

Hands touched her arms and she panicked. Her eyes flew open and she was on her feet, adrenaline pumping, her sword poised to strike at…

Blue eyes… Beautifully _impossible_ blue eyes, staring at her from the ground where he knelt, eyes wide with surprise and concern. Mel felt dizzy, light-headed, the gray on the edges of her sight beginning to narrow and darken to black, and she tried to blink it away, some tiny portion of her mind whispering about blood loss and concussion, because what she was seeing wasn't real, none of it, it _couldn't_ be…

One of the braids by his delicate pointed ears had come loose, a strand of blonde hair fluttering around his eternally youthful face. She wanted to put it back, to make it right again, to make _everything_ right again…

Her sword hit the ground with a sharp clatter and her hand trembled as she reached for him.

"Legolas…" she gasped, before she sank to her knees and the world went black.

* * *

When Mel woke, it was slowly and with a head full of cotton. After several long moments, she managed to peel her heavy eyelids open and blink a few times. She was staring at rafters, and in the flickering light she thought for a moment that she was home, in the little cottage by the orchard, and it had all been a strangely vivid dream. But she blinked again and knew that these rafters were not familiar. She wasn't home. She sighed. A large, warm hand grasped hers and squeezed.

"Oh thank the stars…" Boromir whispered.

Mel could feel his warm breath against her knuckles and she turned her head to look at him, but a sharp pain in her neck and a tugging around her collarbone made her wince. Boromir's hand cupped her face.

"Don't move, my love, it's alright, you're alright," he murmured, in a tone that suggested he was trying to reassure himself more than comfort her.

"What happened?" Mel asked, her voice rough and hoarse.

"You don't remember?"

The carefully neutral tone of his voice made Mel risk the discomfort to look at him again. His blank expression made her even more nervous. She tried to think back.

"Orcs…" she said, "We… We were attacked."

Boromir nodded.

"I couldn't… I couldn't see you…" she muttered before she was suddenly gripped by a fit of belated panic, "Oh my god, are you alright?"

She tried to force herself up so she could really see him, but the tug on her collarbone turned into a sharp pull of pain and her head swam. She let Boromir push her back onto the stiff mattress, trying to overcome the sudden wave of nausea.

"I'm fine, everything's fine, Lindel, don't move."

That name cut sharply through her pounding head and rolling stomach. Lindel? Why was he calling her…?

"Ah, so she's awake then!"

The deep, gruff voice was like a knife, piercing Mel's heart and brain at the same time. She stared at Boromir and his eyes met hers. He looked… sad, almost apologetic, but before Mel could voice anything, a red-bearded face was peering down at her, eyes alight with a merry twinkle that Mel had come to know so very, very well.

"Quite the fighter, aren't you lassie?" Gimli said cheerfully, "Five orcs on your own and naught but a shoulder wound and a bump on the head to show for it! You'd think you were asking for trouble!"

She wanted to hug him. She wanted to grab the dwarf around his broad shoulders and squeeze him until her arms were sore. She wanted to laugh, not because of anything he was saying, but because she was just so happy to see him. But she couldn't seem to make anything work. Her mouth opened and she tried to think of something, anything, to say, but no words would come. And then the knowledge that had been pushed to the back of her conscious mind came slamming forward.

He didn't know her.

He was looking down at her with those sparkling, familiar eyes, but there was no recognition there. She was a stranger to him. Her stomach twisted painfully and she tried not to let it show on her face, but Gimli's smile quickly turned to a frown.

"Mahal, lass, you've turned white as a sheet! It's not so bad as all that, the elf will have you mended up in no time!"

There was another painful twist in Mel's gut. The elf… Oh god, the elf…

 _Blue eyes… A blonde braid… That eternally youthful face…_

She wanted to hide. No, she wanted to run. If she could just get up and start running, maybe she could out run them, she wouldn't have to see, she wouldn't have to _know…_

"You're bleeding again."

Boromir's voice seemed to come to her through a tunnel and she barely registered his words. She was too busy contemplating escape. How could she get away, without seeing…?

"Allow me."

The voice was soft and gentle, and Mel couldn't breathe. Boromir and Gimli were gone, and suddenly her vision was filled with nothing but him.

Legolas.

He didn't meet her eyes, instead pressing gentle fingers to her shoulder, working with the bandage that was wrapped around her wound. Mel could not take her eyes from him. His face was smooth and serene as he worked, his hair gently drifting over his shoulder. He had fixed his loose braid. She studied his face. It couldn't be real. Surely… Surely the Valar wouldn't be that cruel. She really was dreaming. Even as a dream, it would be cruel enough.

There was a sharp pain and she flinched, air hissing past clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry," Legolas murmured without looking up, the words kind and compassionate… and completely neutral. A sort of numbness filled her chest and spread outward to her limbs. He didn't know her. They were strangers.

Mel released her breath slowly.

"It's okay," she whispered.

But it wasn't. It really, _really_ wasn't.

With deft, but gentle hands Legolas spread a salve over Mel's shoulder that made her skin tingle, and then wrapped her wound in fresh bandage.

"You should stay still for the night at least," he said, his eyes still fixed on his work as he secured the wrapping, "How does your head feel?"

"Um…" Mel hesitated, "Like I got hit with a rock?"

She smiled a little, but Legolas only nodded. He had not met her eyes even once.

"That is to be expected. I have something that will help with the pain."

He turned away and she could hear him moving things around on the floor beside her.

"Where am I?" she asked, trying to get him to come back, to just _look_ at her…

"Edoras, in the Meduseld Hall," he answered without reappearing.

A jolt of panic shot through her, momentarily erasing her urge to shake the elf and make him look at her.

"Edoras?" Mel asked, trying not to let the panic seep into her voice.

"Your husband thought it best to bring you back, so that your wounds might be tended."

"Did he?" she said, feeling a surge of annoyance.

"Yes, he did."

That was Boromir's voice, tense and rigid from a place to her right. She pushed her arms underneath her and tried to sit up so she could look him in the eye and glare, but the sharp pain her shoulder and head forced her to slide back down onto the bed. She tried not to groan.

"Damn it," she muttered, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes, "We don't have time for this."

"Lindel…"

Boromir was at her side again, looking down on her with those sad eyes, those apologizing eyes. Legolas was stirring something in a bowl just within the perimeter of her vision, and his eyes remained stubbornly fixed on that bowl.

"Everything will be alright," Boromir said, brushing a hand through her hair, "We have time."

Mel was starting to get angry, angry at Boromir's sad eyes, angry at how hollow and fake the name Lindel sounded on his lips, angry that Legolas would not just _look at her_!

"You don't know that!" she snapped, a bit more harshly than she had perhaps intended.

And Legolas looked at her.

His eyes met hers, just for a brief moment, an involuntary glance before he dropped his gaze again. But there had been something in that glance, something in those eyes, something… something that was gone as quickly as his eyes flicked away from her, and Mel knew that she hadn't seen anything, not really, nothing but false hope planted by her desperate mind. He didn't know her. She turned away, intent on voicing some protest to Boromir…

… _uiradathon angin, mellon-nîn…_

Her head snapped back to Legolas so fast her vision swam.

"What did you say?"

Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. Legolas looked at her again, his eyes wide and surprised.

"I said nothing, my lady."

She fought back the urge to insist, to tell him that she _had_ heard him, clear as day, words he had whispered on the shores of Lothlorien a lifetime ago… but it had only been memory, vivid but distant and he didn't know…

"Sorry," she said, trying to remain calm and composed, "My mistake."

Legolas inclined his head, and retreated out of her line of vision again. Mel felt his absence keenly, far more keenly than she should have. She wanted to ask him to come back, for any reason at all, just so she could see him. But at the same time, she didn't want to see that blank look in his eyes, to realize again that her best friend in the world, her _orenyanil_ , didn't know her.

She tore her eyes away and met Boromir's eyes instead. He still looked so sad.

"We can't stay here," Mel insisted, attempting to turn the conversation back toward something a little safer to her heart, "You know we can't."

"Everything is alright, love, truly," Boromir said, "You must trust me in this."

But if they stayed here, in Edoras, in the Meduseld Hall, someone was sure to recognize… and then Mel's brain made a belated realization. Boromir was sitting in the same room with Legolas and Gimli, two people who had known him as well as anyone in his old life. But there was no indication that either of them were any the wiser. Clearly they were convinced that he was not Boromir. What had he told them? Had it been difficult to lie to them, or had they accepted whatever story he'd told them unquestioningly? She wondered… and she worried. She worried that the longer they remained in the company of their former friends, the harder it would be to keep up this facade, this unfamiliarity. How long would it be before someone started asking questions that they couldn't answer?

"We can't stay," she said, her voice firm and final.

Boromir paused and then sighed.

"Very well," he said, "We will go as soon as you are able."

"Sooner," Mel said, allowing a smile to twitch at the corners of her lips.

Boromir smiled back and ran a hand through her hair.

"You need to rest."

Mel wanted to laugh at the thought. Sleep seemed about as possible to her right now as doing a handstand. Her nerves were keyed up to an energetic hum and her stomach was still rolling with tension. And her mouth was dry as hell!

"I'm thirsty," she said.

"Here."

Legolas had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and it made Mel jump. She had forgotten how quiet he was. He knelt beside her, holding the bowl he had been stirring so intently.

"If you will assist me, Esgalion," he said.

Boromir put his arm behind Mel and helped prop her to a semi-sitting position. Mel felt her stomach roll again, but Legolas pressed the bowl to her lips.

"Drink this," he said, his voice gentle, but insistent, and he was once again avoiding her eyes.

Mel drank. The liquid was cool and clean tasting, but it wasn't water, or at least, it wasn't _just_ water.

"What is it?" she asked once she had finished, but her eyes already felt heavy.

"It will help you sleep…"

Legolas' voice was already far away and she tried to reach out, to bring him back, to keep him close. But she was already gone, lost in a sea of darkness and dreams.

* * *

The girl's hand reached out and touched Legolas' arm, her fingers brushing the sleeve of his tunic before it fell back to her side and she was asleep. He had made the draught perhaps a bit stronger than he should have, but he had wanted to be sure she would sleep through the night. She had a fire in her he was certain was not put out easily.

He glanced up at the Man, the one that had caused his heart such a sharp pang of grief. Esgalion he called himself, but his likeness to the fallen Boromir was stunning. If Legolas had not seen the funeral boat pass over the Rauros Falls with his own eyes, he would have sworn it was their lost comrade returned. He had almost believed it when he and Gimli had come to his aid on the plains, surrounded on all sides by an orc raiding party. There had been a brief moment when he had looked into the face of Esgalion and seen recognition reflected there. And he had believed…

But then the scream had cut the air and his light feet had brought him first to the aid of the young woman, the wife of Esgalion, the one called Lindel. He had quickly dispatched her orc attacker, but when he had knelt by her side, had seen the blood… something strange had happened. He had been afraid. Afraid that it was too late, that he hadn't saved her, that he had _lost_ her, and it felt as if something inside of him was screaming, trying to tell him something, something _important…_

But at his touch she had leapt to life in a blaze of energy that had both surprised him and made him wary, her blade swinging, her eyes bright. But when she met his gaze…

… _Legolas…_

He could still hear his name on her lips, like a prayer, like a plea, reverent and disbelieving. It wasn't until after she had fallen, after he had carried her in his arms to her husband, frantic with worry, after they had returned to Edoras and he had tended her wounds, that he realized why it bothered him, the way she'd said his name.

Legolas did not know this girl. He had never seen her before in his life. But she knew him. Not just his name… or his face…

She _knew_ him.

And when she'd whispered his name, so soft that he might have missed it had he been a lesser creature… the way she had said it…

… _Legolas…_

…made him believe that he knew her too.

* * *

 **A/N** : I would say I'm sorry… but I'm really not ;P


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I just wanted to say that I cannot tell you guys how grateful I am for all of your lovely comments! It really makes my day to hear from you guys! :) Now, on with the story!

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

The next time Mel woke up, it was in a strange way, not slowly or groggily, but all at once. One minute she was lost in dark, dreamless sleep, the next her eyes were open, blinking in the pale light. She blamed the magic potion she'd been given the night before. Elves didn't sleep like Men, so an Elvish sleeping draught was bound to produce some weird effects.

Her bandages tugged at her collarbone, but she managed to sit up completely without any pain or dizziness. She didn't try anything crazy, like rotating her shoulder, but the way she figured it, no pain was probably a pretty good indication that she could ride. Which meant they were leaving, _today_ if Mel had any say in it.

She settled back as comfortably as she could and looked around the room she had not really had a chance to see the night before. It was small, comprised primarily of rough cut stone, with a little window through which the first indication of dawn shone through breezy curtains. The only furnishings were the small bed, a night table, and a chair in the far corner, which currently contained a red-bearded dwarf, slumped down with his arms across his chest, snoring quietly. Mel grinned, but then her heart twisted painfully and she wiped the expression from her face. It wouldn't do for Gimli to wake up and see this weird woman grinning at him like an idiot.

The door opened and Mel jumped. It was Legolas, staring at her in wide-eyed surprise.

"Forgive me, my lady, I thought you would still be asleep."

As hard as she tried, Mel still had such a hard time making her brain accept the fact that he didn't know her. This was not the same Legolas, not _her_ Legolas.

She swallowed and managed a smile.

"No need to apologize. It looks like it's still early."

"You should be resting," Legolas said, depositing and rearranging a small bundle on the night table, "Are you in pain?"

He was back to not looking at her again. Mel tried not to care.

"Nope," she said confidently, shaking her head, "I can't even feel it, honestly. That must be some powerful stuff you're using."

"It is a combination of herbs from Gondor and a little of my people's own special talent," He glanced up and then back down to the bandages he was folding, "You have a strange dialect. What region of Gondor do you hail from?"

Mel panicked.

"Ithilien," she said, blurting out the first thing that popped into her head.

Legolas looked up and raised an eyebrow. Wrong answer then.

"Now anyway," she amended, "I've traveled quite a lot, but now we live in Ithilien."

A lie with just a hint of truth. His eyes held hers for a moment and Mel tried not to blink, but she thought he still didn't look very convinced. She'd never had to lie to Legolas before, even in the very beginning. She hadn't known it was going to be this hard.

"Thank you, by the way," Mel said, trying to fill the sudden heavy silence, "For everything you've done, tending my wounds, and… everything. You've been very kind. I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't…"

She stopped, blinded by a sudden flash of memory, of a feathered arrow shaft and the stench of orc and then blue eyes, blond hair and…

"… _Legolas…"_

She had said his name. Out loud. She had thought it was a dream and she had actually said his name! Oh god, no _wonder_ he wouldn't look at her! She could feel the embarrassment building up in her chest and her hand involuntary moved to cover her mouth. What must it have sounded like, to have a woman that he didn't even know speak his name like that? Oh god, she just wanted to bury herself under the bed covers and never come out again.

She looked up and he was staring at her intently, as if trying to put together a puzzle. When she met his eyes, the lines of concentration smoothed away and he turned back to the bandages and jar of salve on the table.

"It was no trouble, my lady, truly."

He sounded so calm, so sure of himself. Mel wanted to roll up in the sheets and die. Without another word, Legolas began to methodically strip away the bandages on her shoulder. Mel turned her head, half from embarrassment, half in an effort not to flinch, but as he pulled the last layer of bandages from her wound she couldn't resist taking a glimpse at the damage.

There were four deep gouges in her shoulder, red and ugly looking, crisscrossed with black thread holding the skin together. She could guess, just from how it looked, that they dug all the way into the muscle. The wounds oozed a bit of blood, but nothing substantial, which surprised her.

"You're mending well," Legolas murmured absently, gently dabbing at the wounds with a damp cloth.

"Yep," Mel said, using all her concentration to keep her jaw from tightening against the sting, "Just one more scar to add to the collection."

Legolas glanced up from his work, clearly confused, so with her free hand Mel swept her bangs back, showing him the faint mark in the middle of her forehead crawling its jagged way into her hairline. Legolas tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, as if pondering the mark and all its varied implications. Slowly, he reached up and brushed his thumb along the length of the scar. Mel fought the urge to shiver, remembering the first time _her_ Legolas had seen it, how his lips had pressed gently to the skin.

" _Oh mellon-nîn… Don't you know that you are lovely?"_

"How did you come by this?" _this_ Legolas asked, still staring at the mark as if he might unravel its secrets just by scrutinizing it.

"Orc kicked me in the head," Mel said, vaguely, "I was lucky, actually."

He nodded, but he seemed very far away. His thumb brushed the scar again and his long fingers inadvertently brushed her cheek…

"You're awake!"

Boromir's voice from the door made her jerk and the cloth that had been forgotten in Legolas' other hand slipped, scraping along the raw skin of Mel's wound. She hissed and Legolas went scrambling for his jar of salve.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" he said, sounding strangely anxious and unnerved.

"Don't apologize," Mel said, trying not to grit her teeth, "It's my own fault anyway."

Boromir was at her side, holding her hand tightly to his chest, his eyes wide and worry creasing his face.

"Are you alright? Are you in pain?"

"Well, I am right now," Mel said dryly, forcing a smile as the cool, tingling of Legolas' miracle salve started sinking its soothing teeth into the aching throb of her shoulder, "But I wasn't a few minutes ago."

"I am truly sorry…" Legolas started again and Mel whipped her head around and cut him off.

"Would you _stop_ apologizing?" she said, "Seriously, it was my fault, so just stop!"

 _It was my fault, all of it, all my fault, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry orenyanil, so sorry I had to leave you…_

The painful thought entered her head so fast she didn't have time to school her features against it. Luckily, Legolas seemed more interested in bandaging her wound than looking at her face right then and she managed to turn away, only to be met with Boromir's sad and worried eyes. He reached up to gently brush her hair behind her ear.

"I thought you would sleep today," he murmured, "You need to rest."

"Well I'm awake, and I'm fine," Mel insisted, "Have you seen to the horses?"

She hadn't seen any sign of her mare since it had thrown her yesterday and the slightly guilt-laden expression on Boromir's face did nothing to ease her mind as to the poor thing's fate.

"We have only the gelding left," he confirmed, "We managed to recover most of the supplies, but the mare has not been seen."

Damn. She was grateful that the supplies had been recovered… but, damn! Not only did she mourn the pretty mare's fate, but the purchase of a new horse would greatly cut into their spending money. She just hoped they wouldn't need anything else during this trip. It was turning into a bit of a nightmare.

"You shouldn't concern yourself with such things right now," Boromir said, "You need to recover."

"Just get me a horse, I'll be fine," Mel said, straightening herself on the bed now that Legolas had finished bandaging her arm.

"I don't like the idea of traveling while you're injured," Boromir said, his voice straying into firmer and more stubborn territory, "Especially now that we know how dangerous the way is to us."

Mel opened her mouth with every intention of protesting. But no words came. Because he was right. It wasn't safe for them to travel while she was incapacitated, not with orc bands roaming the plains. What if they encountered others? There might not be anyone close by to save them next time.

Legolas was looking at her. The piercing blue of his eyes caught her attention. He wasn't just looking. He was watching, gauging her reactions, and he had that strange look on his face, sizing her up, measuring her, trying to piece her together. The look was only there for a moment before he turned away and began clearing away the old bandages, but it was enough to make Mel feel uncomfortable. She had made so many mistakes already. He was starting to suspect something. And how would she ever explain if he questioned her?

"We can't stay here," Mel said, turning back to Boromir pointedly, "We made a promise."

"A promise that can wait, Lindel," Boromir answered, and it took every bit of her resolve not to flinch when he used that name.

"You don't know that!" she said, the words coming out far more anxiously than she had intended, "You don't know…"

"May I ask where you are going that is so very urgent?"

Both Boromir and Mel looked up at Legolas. His eyes flitted between them, not suspicious precisely, just curious.

"Fangorn Forest," Mel said. Boromir squeezed her hand, as if to warn her, but what else could she say? Thank you for saving our lives, but it's really none of your business what we were doing out in the wilderness?

"And why would you journey to that place? Few have ever roamed its depths."

"We seek the Ents," she said, "The shepherds of the trees, particularly one called Treebeard, whose home is in Fangorn."

That seemed to both surprise and puzzle Legolas.

"What business have you with the tree-herders?"

Boromir spoke before Mel had a chance to form a complete thought.

"With respect, sir, our business with Treebeard would be better discussed with him."

Mel swallowed and dropped her eyes. Boromir was right, of course. Trying to explain why they were seeking Treebeard would be nearly as difficult as trying to tell the story of their pasts. The less they tried to explain, the better.

Legolas stared at Boromir for a moment and Mel held her breath. He seemed to be measuring Boromir the same way he had measured Mel, and it was nerve wracking. Had Boromir allowed too much of himself to shine through? But if the elf found anything amiss, he said nothing and his eyes did not betray him.

"Forgive me, sir, but you will not find the Ent you seek in Fangorn Forest any longer," he said, his voice short, clipped, formal, "For he now resides in Isengard, beneath the shadow of fallen Orthanc."

Mel nearly smacked herself on the forehead. Of course! How could she be so stupid? With Saruman gone, Treebeard would want to oversee the reclamation of Isengard to the forest. Of course he would remain in Orthanc! How could she have missed something so obvious?

"Does anyone want to know what I think?"

The three of them jumped and turned toward the corner. Gimli was sitting up in his chair, very much awake, packing a pipe and looking quite smug and pleased with himself. Mel didn't know if she wanted to smack him upside the head or hug him. The dwarf lit his pipe and took a few puffs while everyone waited, and then waved the pipe stem in their general direction.

"I think, if it's so important that the girl talk with the tree-folk, my companion and I might be able to see our way to escorting you both to Orthanc."

There was a beat of silent surprise. Mel looked at Boromir, a knot of panic rising up in her throat. _Travel_ with Legolas and Gimli? There were so many ways that could go wrong, Mel could barely keep them all straight. She was already having trouble keeping her composure around them, keeping herself from straying into territory that was too familiar. And once they reached Isengard and the Ents? Explaining the power of the Yavannacor was going to be no easy task. But she also could not help but see the benefits of the arrangement. There was strength in numbers, and they could use the extra fighting hands with her injuries. They could potentially be on their way as soon as a horse could be found. And it was only a day's ride…

"Why would you want to help us?" Boromir asked, "We've nothing to give you, no way to repay you for the kindness you've already shown."

Gimli stared at Boromir for a moment, chewing on his pipe, and then a smile twitched at his lips.

"Call it a favor for an old friend."

Mel and Boromir exchanged a look, his eyes clearly conveying that he didn't like this idea. Mel's eyes flicked from Gimli to Legolas and back.

"May I have a moment alone with my husband?"

Gimli puffed his pipe and jumped out of his chair.

"Of course! We'll let you talk the matter over!"

He crossed the room and nudged at Legolas, who looked a bit dazed.

"Come on, lad, let's see if we can't find some breakfast! I'm about sick to death of traveling rations."

Legolas followed the dwarf out of the room wordlessly, almost as if out of habit, closing the door quietly behind them.

"We aren't truly considering this."

Boromir's voice was low and his eyes flitted from Mel to the door and back as if he were afraid the recently departed duo might still be listening at the keyhole.

"We could use the help," Mel said tentatively, testing the words in her own ears as much as with Boromir.

"We don't know what might happen-"

"What _did_ happen?" Mel asked, curiously, "They clearly don't realize that you're… who you are. What happened while I was unconscious, after the attack?"

Boromir paused. Mel could see him gathering his thoughts and she let him.

"I was surrounded," he said, sounding like he was reciting an old tale rather than the events of a day ago, "I heard you cry out, but I couldn't reach you. That was when they came. Arrows felled orcs all about me and I could hear Gimli's war shouts, and for a moment I thought…"

He paused and took a breath.

"I almost forgot where I was."

Mel understood that, forgetting. She had been fighting it ever since she'd woken up.

"Legolas saw my face first. When he saw me… his face… He looked as if he'd seen a ghost. Then you screamed and we were all running, but he reached you first. He held you in his arms, and I thought you might be…"

His hands balled into fists, but then relaxed.

"I… admit I was a bit distraught and so my recollection of events isn't entirely clear. I must have told them you were my wife, though I don't recall. I remember helping Legolas clean and bandage your wound, and he asked for your name. I had recovered enough presence of mind by then to give the name Lindel, at least. Then he asked for my name. When I told him Esgalion, I thought at first that he did not believe me. He seemed… confused. But then he only said that I reminded him of a friend."

"So, he didn't know you? He didn't recognize you?"

Boromir shook his head, "I am not certain, but he has not questioned me since. Gimli seemed far more open to accept my current name, though he too said that I reminded him of someone dear."

Boromir paused, as if wrestling with something he wasn't sure he wanted to say.

"I… confess…" he said, "Knowing how it was in the end… to hear them speak of me as someone dear to them still… it warmed my heart."

Mel smiled and took his hand, giving it a squeeze.

"They're still our friends, Boromir," she said, "They just don't know it yet. And I think we can probably use all the friends we can get right now."

"But what if we make a mistake? What if we say something…?"

"Then we'll deal with it," Mel said, "But honestly? If they can both look you in the face and not suspect a thing, it makes me think we might not have anything to worry about. The Valar must have done their work very well indeed."

Boromir flicked his eyes up to her face in surprise, and then smiled.

"You speak more like a Gondorian lady each day, did you know that?"

Mel jerked back, a surprised laugh escaping her.

"Really?"

His grin widened and he cupped her face in his hand, pulling her closer, but she stopped him with a touch.

"So, do we agree? We're taking them with us?"

Boromir paused, his eyes flitting over her face, and then sighed.

"This is your quest, Melody Calenhiril," he said, "We will do what you think is best."

Mel smiled and leaned down to press a kiss on his lips.

* * *

"They are lying to us."

Gimli sat back, puffing his pipe and looking quite unconcerned by Legolas' bold accusation. The great hall of Meduseld was nearly deserted. The elf-prince had waited until the late watches of the night to speak, mind and heart wrestling together all through the long day. His mind was certain, as certain as he had ever been: the Gondorians who called themselves Esgalion and Lindel were keeping secrets, speaking half-truths, hiding he knew not what. His heart… Well, his heart whispered, but spoke little. Whispered that there was _something…_ something _important…_ But his mind was clear and his heart was not, and so it was his mind that won out in the end.

"They are lying to us, Gimli," he said again.

The dwarf took another leisurely puff of his pipe.

"Well, of course they are."

"And that doesn't worry you?" Legolas retorted.

"We've just come out of a war, lad," Gimli said, "Folks keep secrets in war. And old habits can be hard to break."

Gimli's lack of concern was beginning to grate on Legolas' nerves, and he wasn't entirely sure why.

"But why keep secrets from us?"

"Why not? We are as much strangers to them as they are to us."

"She _knew_ me, Gimli!"

The dwarf paused then, leaning forward, and finally looking like he was really listening.

"What do you mean by that, lad?"

… _Legolas…_

"She… She said my name," he said, realizing how foolish it sounded as soon as the words left his lips, "On the field, before she fell. Lindel spoke my name."

He had meant to keep this to himself, at least for a little while, this gnawing feeling inside of him that whispered when he remembered the way she'd reached out, the way her voice had trembled. Some part of his mind itched when he remembered it, like there was something he'd forgotten. Something important… But there was nothing. There never was.

Gimli sat back slowly, his pipe still smoking in his hand, forgotten. When next he spoke, it was slowly with words carefully chosen.

"That might not be such an unusual circumstance," he said, his gaze falling heavily on the elf's face, "You're a war hero, Legolas Greenleaf of the Mirkwood Realm. Many people might know your face and speak your name, and you would know it not."

"I know this," Legolas said, sitting back and letting his eyes fall to the ground. He wasn't comfortable with it, but he knew that often his reputation preceded him, now more than ever.

"But that's not what you mean," Gimli said, softly, "Is it?"

Legolas looked up. Gimli's eyes were bright and searching, and Legolas felt a twinge of relieved gratitude. He should have known that his friend would never doubt him.

"There is something amiss, my friend," Legolas said, "I know not what, but my mind and my heart are of one accord in this. There is something we are not seeing."

Gimli nodded, moving his pipe back to his mouth, puffing thoughtfully.

"Well then," he said, "Suppose it's all the more reason to keep an eye on them, isn't it?"

Legolas knew he was right. Especially if the suspicious pair were intent on speaking with their friend, Fangorn, they should know what they were about. So why was his every thought trying to persuade him to go elsewhere, to leave the two of them behind and spare no glance back? And his heart…

Well. His heart whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hey guys! Just a quick announcement, April is Camp NaNoWriMo, and I will be spending the month editing yet _another_ fanfic that I've been really excited about, this one a Loki fic set during his imprisonment before/during the Dark World. This means that updates during the next month will be sporadic, if they happen at all. Never fear! I have not abandoned you, and I assure you I will attempt to return to regularly scheduled updating in May! Until then, enjoy the next chapter! Thanks!

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 **Chapter 7**

Finding a horse in Edoras was perhaps one of the easiest things about this whole trip, and so the next morning at dawn the four companions struck out on the road to Isengard. Mel felt stiff and her shoulder ached, but she was alert and her senses tingled in the warm summer breeze. Maybe she was projecting her heightened tension onto the rest of the group, because Legolas had barely spoken a word, and Mel could clearly see the rigid set of his shoulders as he rode in front of them. This was not a side of Legolas she was familiar with. _Her_ Legolas had been so calm, so at ease. Only when danger had threatened had he ever looked so…

Oh.

He didn't trust them. That was it. Something had happened and he didn't trust them, of course he didn't, what reason had they given him to trust them? Boromir had all but told him to mind his own business and Mel had done nothing but speak in enigmatic riddles. Only an idiot would trust them at this point, and Legolas was anything but an idiot. Still, the realization hit her in the gut and sat there like a block of ice.

He didn't trust them… didn't trust _her_ …

"Are you well?"

Boromir's voice was low and gentle, his gray eyes flitting over her face in concern. Mel managed to force a smile.

"Yes," she said, "I'm fine."

"Only a few hours ride to the edge of Isengard, lass," Gimli said, turning around to scrutinize her from the back of Legolas' white horse, "But should you start to feel faint, you should speak up. We're in no rush, you know, and you've had a nasty scratch, for sure."

Mel blinked in surprise. Gimli's concern seemed so genuine, even friendly. Surely Legolas had spoken to his friend about his suspicions, whatever they might be, but the dwarf didn't seem fazed in the least. Mel tried to rearrange her features into a more relaxed expression.

"No, really, I'm fine. Thank you."

Gimli nodded and turned back around. Boromir was still watching her, Mel could see him out of the corner of her eye. Legolas never even acknowledged they had spoken.

They rode a few more hours, the wound on Mel's shoulder progressing from an ache to an actual pain, before they stopped on a ledge overlooking the valley of Isengard. Mel swung out of her saddle and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. She hadn't realized how much of her weight was distributed to that arm during dismount. She managed to reach the ground, but her fists stayed clenched on the saddle, her eyes screwed shut, forehead pressed against the horse's shoulder, breathing in the scent of leather and sweat.

"Lindel?"

Boromir was beside her, his arm around her, pressing his cheek to her temple.

"You're in pain, my love," He spoke it as a declaration, not a question. "You should have asked for my help."

"I'm okay," Mel whispered, finally able to get her breath back, the pain subsided to a dull throb, "I'm alright, really."

"All the same, we should tend to your wound."

Legolas' voice was like an emotionless stab from an icicle and Mel stiffened. Boromir felt it and pressed her closer to him in response.

"Let her catch her breath," he said, his voice dangerously close to a growl.

Mel pushed him away and stood on her own. She didn't want them to fight. She'd had enough of their fighting to last her a lifetime.

"No, I'm okay," she said, facing Legolas, "I'm okay. Let's get this over with."

His face was expressionless, but he paused for the briefest moment, his eyes glancing over her. Then he turned and walked away without another word. Mel felt her fists clench and she relaxed them. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't.

She sat on a nearby boulder and tried to stay still while Legolas unwrapped her bandages and examined her injury. There was more blood than Mel thought there probably should be. The delicate scabbing that had begun in Edoras had torn apart and the deep gouges oozed scarlet. Legolas' face never changed, giving no indication of his thoughts about the wound. He simply cleaned the jagged cuts, applied more soothing balm, and wrapped her up in fresh bandages. Mel tried to keep her eyes on the scratches, his fingers, the empty air, but more often than not she caught herself searching his face for any indication of emotion or thought. He didn't seem to notice.

Boromir tended to the horses and Gimli dug through the bags for some food for their lunch. Mel wasn't feeling particularly hungry, but the dwarf pressed a bright red apple into her hand.

"Eat," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument, "Won't do to have you swooning on us now."

Mel stared at the apple in her hand, then at the dwarf standing stubbornly in front of her, waiting for her to take the first bite. And she wondered, just for a moment, if he knew. Did he remember something, even if it was just a hunch, an instinct, a gut feeling, did he _know…_?

But that was impossible. The Valar had done their jobs well, she was sure. So she smiled and bit the apple and tried not to read anything into the pleased expression on his face as he walked away.

They ate in silence, and from the overlook Mel could see the dark tower of Orthanc, standing tall and foreboding on the outside edge of the empty vale. She shivered, a residual feeling of dread washing over her. She did not want to go back to that place. She remembered the dark, the pain, the terror and despair, and she didn't want to be anywhere near it ever again. It couldn't be helped, of course. Fangorn was there, and he was the only being in Middle-Earth that had any information about the Ent-wives. She needed to speak to him, if she was to have any clue at all where to begin her search. But still, her finger twinged where the metal of the Yavannacor touched her and she twirled it around her finger absently.

 _He isn't there,_ she thought to herself, _He is gone, and he will soon be dead, and he isn't there…_

"Lindel?"

Mel jumped and dropped her hands. Legolas was staring at her and he didn't look suspicious or guarded. He looked concerned, his youthful brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

"You went very pale," he said, "Are you well? Does your wound pain you?"

Mel swallowed and shook her head.

"No, I'm not in pain."

Something in her face or her voice must have reminded him of his mistrust. His expression reverted to a blank mask of indifference and he turned away from her, rising to his feet in one graceful motion.

"We should not linger here," he said, and his neutral tone stabbed at her ears. She turned away and was met by Boromir's soft, pained eyes. He stood and reached out a hand, pulling her gently to her feet.

"Will you be alright, my love?" he whispered, though they both knew the words would carry to elven ears.

Mel nodded, grateful for his use of the endearment rather than the name that sounded so hollow and fake on his lips.

"I'm fine."

Boromir's expression did not change. He cupped her face with one hand and pulled her toward him, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and she knew there was so much more he wanted to say. For once, she was thankful for Legolas' expert hearing, because she wasn't sure if she could bear it. Boromir had lost everything, and yet he worried about her. Legolas was… _had been_ her friend, her best friend, her confidante, someone she could say without hesitation that she loved, but he was not her family. He was not her world. Mel had lost a friend and now was haunted by his ghost in flesh. Boromir had lost his life, in every sense of the word. In the wake of his loss, her own pain seemed trivial and she could not stand the thought that he might worry over her.

They mounted and began the descent into Isengard. The afternoon sun glinted on the sliver of river that flowed through the valley, wide and shallow, stark against the scarred landscape. It would be months, perhaps years, before Isengard would be green and beautiful again, as Mel knew it must have been once. Her heart ached for the trees that had lost their lives to the wizard in the tower. But she knew Treebeard would see it made right, and that thought eased her pain a bit.

The black spire of Orthanc grew larger as they approached and the closer they got, the more Mel dreaded passing under its shadow. There was phantom fire on her finger and pain in the scar on her forehead, and she caught herself repeating a steady mantra in her head: _He is not here, he is not here, he is not here…_ It helped to a degree, but as they forded the trickling river, a shiver still ran down her spine gazing up at the torn down walls of what had once been the land of Saruman the White.

They approached the main gate, and an ent straightened beneath the arch. Legolas gave a glance toward Mel, but she ignored him, hanging back and biding her time. She had felt something in her brain shift when the ent had stood, and knew that anything she spoke now would be incomprehensible to her companions and take quite a long time to say. It would be better for everyone if she let the others make the initial introductions, at least until they saw Treebeard.

The ent raised a branch-like arm as they came closer.

"Hail and well met, travelers!" he called out and Mel perked up. She knew that voice…

"Hail and well met again, Bregalad!" Legolas answered and Mel felt a smile spread over her face without permission.

 _Quickbeam._

She ducked her head until she could school her expression into something a little more presentable.

"Ah, back so soon, child of the Greenwood?" the rowan ent asked, enthusiastic and cheerful.

"We met travelers on the road who wish to be brought before Fangorn," Legolas answered, gesturing to Boromir and Mel behind him.

Quickbeam glanced at them… and went still. His eyes met Mel's and held there for a long, shocked moment. And then he bowed deeply, the leaves and smattering of red berries in his branches almost touching the ground.

"Calenhiril," he murmured reverently, "You have come to us at last."

It was still strange to Mel that she had met this ent before and he had no memory of it, but she was getting used to it. She ignored Legolas' and Gimli's perplexed and suspicious looks, and instead urged her horse forward, putting all her concentration into speaking a language that all those present could understand.

"Well met, Quickbeam," she said, "Please, where is our brother, Treebeard? I must speak with him."

"Of course, of course!" he said, straightening hurriedly and gesturing them all forward, "He will be anxious to greet you at last. Come, little sister, come!"

Quickbeam's long strides forced the horses into a trot to keep up as he hurried through the archway and across the wide courtyard of Orthanc. Mel remained at the head of their group, keeping her head high and ignoring the feeling of eyes burning into her back. She felt a strange sense of satisfaction in knowing that she held the respect of the Ents and Legolas had not anticipated it. There was much that he would not anticipate about this meeting.

"Fangorn!" Quickbeam shouted, waving a lithe arm in the air, "Come! We have distinguished guests!"

Mel pulled her horse up short and allowed herself a moment to clear her head of the burning memories of this place. Darkness and despair tried to crawl up the back of her throat like bile, and she swallowed, forcing the feelings down. She sat a little straighter in her saddle to avoid the outward appearance of pain, the binding on her shoulder digging into her skin in protest, but she welcomed it. The discomfort helped anchor her in the present.

Treebeard turned from his conference with two other ents as Quickbeam approached him.

"Harum hum hoom, what's this?" Treebeard said, and Mel smiled at the familiar tone of irritation in his voice, "Guests again already? How are we to see to our tasks if we are always plagued with guests?"

"I assure you, Treebeard, you will wish to see these guests," Quickbeam said, and gestured to their party, waiting just beside the tower steps.

Treebeard grumbled, but he pushed himself forward until he stood just before their company. It was then that Mel realized she now stood alone, the others at her back. She looked into the eyes of Treebeard… and knew that he knew her. He didn't remember her, but he _knew_ her. She smiled. Then she took a deep breath and spoke.

"I bring greetings to the one called Treebeard, keeper of the forests of Fangorn and lord of Isengard, from our Mother Yavanna, Giver of Fruits and Lover of the Green."

The words came to her without thought, flowing freely from her mind to her lips, though it took a solid five minutes to say in Old Entish, which felt so natural when she spoke it, but sounded so strange when it was heard. She would never understand how her human vocal cords could possibly make the sounds of leaves rustling and wood creaking. Fangorn swayed and hummed as he listened, waiting a few seconds before replying back in kind.

"Welcome and well met, Little Sister, Calenhiril, Keeper of the Ring which gives power and understanding to our peoples."

This took almost as long to say and when it was over, Mel had to work hard to revert back to speaking in the common language.

"Forgive me, but for the sake of my companions, I believe it would be best to converse in the tongues of Men," she said, "We have much to discuss."

She allowed herself one glance back over her shoulder. Boromir, of course, only smiled with a hint of pride and devotion on his face. Legolas and Gimli both stared at her in open-mouthed shock. She allowed herself only the hint of a satisfied smirk.

"Well, well, harum hoom," Treebeard said, bringing her eyes back to meet him, "Two of your companions I have met before, Calenhiril, but the third is a face unknown to me."

"Esgalion," Mel said, gesturing to Boromir, "My husband and protector. He has traveled far with me, through many dangers and trials.

"And will continue through all dangers and trials to come," Boromir said, nudging his horse forward to stand at Mel's side.

Treebeard made a pleased sound.

"Well met, Esgalion, favored of Men and Tree-folk alike. I would like to hear the tales of these trials and dangers which have kept our sister from coming to us in our hour of need."

Mel felt a stab of guilt. He thought she had abandoned them. That she hadn't heard their call. If only he knew…

"I am grieved by what happened here, Treebeard," she said, "The treachery of the White Wizard is beyond measure or forgiveness."

She was shaking. She gripped her reins more tightly to make it stop.

"If I could have been here, if I could have done something, _anything_ , I would have. You must believe me."

Treebeard's eyes crinkled sadly.

"Of course, I believe you, little sister," he rumbled, "Forgive my harshness. It has been challenging these last few weeks, some of the most challenging times of my very long life."

"I know," she said, "I know it has. And I'm sorry there isn't more I can do to help you."

"But you are here now, Calenhiril, and that counts for something," he said, his face brightening, and Mel felt another little stab of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Treebeard," she said gently, "But I'm afraid my assistance here will be short lived. Our Mother has sent me on an errand and I've come to ask for your help."

She saw his face fall, but he quickly rallied his expression and Mel felt her heart twist for him. He was doing so well, but he had never asked for this. All he had wanted was to tend to his trees and now he was saddled with the healing of a land that should never have been marred to begin with. She wanted desperately to help him, but she didn't see how she could.

"What help could I possibly give to the daughter of Yavanna?" he asked.

Mel smiled.

"I need you to tell me everything you can about the Entwives."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Sorry I was gone for so long, guys! After Camp NaNoWriMo ended, I discovered that I needed a week to recharge my batteries and get myself put back together. Thanks for understanding! I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Once Mel's true purpose was made clear to him, Treebeard was beside himself with enthusiasm, any lingering disappointment forgotten in his determination to give her all the information he could about the lost wives of the tree herders. He was practically tripping over himself to tell her everything he knew, even though what he knew didn't really amount to much.

The Entwives had settled east of the Anduin, and they had fled the destruction of that land by Sauron in the Second Age, but after that things got sketchy. Mel had known this was inevitable (after all, they wouldn't be lost if Treebeard knew where they were), but she took note of every scrap of detail she could glean, even rumors and whispers and songs that Treebeard had overheard. The thing that most piqued her interest, however, was something Treebeard had heard far more recently.

"The little ones," he said, his voice a calm, gentle rumble, "The little ones who stayed with me for a time, they spoke of a forest close to their home, one that was alive in the way that my own trees are alive. They said strange things lived in this place, things that moved in the shadows, unseen."

"The Old Forest…" Mel whispered.

Was it possible? She didn't know how it could be. The Old Forest was quite a way from the Brown Lands, well to the west of the Anduin. It was possible, even likely that the Entwives would have fled west to escape Sauron's destruction, but there were plenty of forests between here and the Shire that they could have found refuge in, including Mirkwood, or even the forest surrounding Rivendell. Mel could not imagine that they would not have found shelter and protection with the elves. So why run so far? And why not make contact with the hobbits or even try to return after Sauron's first defeat? There were so many questions that remained unanswered and she didn't even have a guess. For the first time (but she suspected not the last), she despaired of ever completing Yavanna's impossible task.

"Harum hoom, it is quite an errand you have been set, little sister," Treebeard said, as if reading her thoughts on her face, "It will take a company of true friends to see it done."

"Except I have no company," Mel muttered, her mind still working fervently.

"And what are we then?"

Gimli's voice surprised her. The dwarf was smirking, wisps of smoke curling from his pipe.

"I... I didn't think..."

"Aye, that you didn't," he said, brandishing his pipe stem in her direction, "I've got the feeling that's a frequent problem of yours, lass."

"I know you've been away from home a long time," Mel hedged, her mind slowly beginning to wrap around what Gimli was suggesting.

"And a little while longer won't make much difference in the end, will it, lad?"

Gimli elbowed Legolas in the side and the elf (who had been glaring resolutely at his hands) gave his friend a dirty look.

"I don't see how this matter concerns us," Legolas answered, a distinct chill in his voice.

"You mean to tell me, searching for the legendary wives of the forest is of no interest to the tree-loving elves?" Gimli asked skeptically.

Legolas did not answer, only returned to staring at his hands in his lap.

"You've both done far more than we've had any right to expect," Mel said, setting her eyes on Legolas' down-turned face, "This is my task. We will find our own way."

She stood and, despite her efforts to keep her expression neutral, the tug of the bandage on her shoulder made her wince. She ignored it, but it brought another thought to her mind.

"Treebeard," she said, turning back to the ent, "Do you or any of your kin have wounds that I might see to? I cannot do as much as I would like, but I will do what I can."

Treebeard's eyes filled with sorrow.

"Alas, what power you might have offered comes too late for those who might have used it, Calenhiril. Our most grievously wounded have already been returned to the earth."

A flash of memory assaulted Mel like a physical punch to the gut, memory of a silver-barked ent covered with blackened patches, and soft gray eyes weighed by years and grief.

"Beechbone…" she whispered, the name coming to her like an accusation from an erased past.

"You knew him, Calenhiril?"

Treebeard's voice sounded far away, like listening to him through a tunnel. She reached for Boromir's shoulder, trying to remain upright as her stomach twisted, threatening to bring up the food she'd just eaten. Beechbone, the beech ent, the one burned by the fire of the orcs, the ent she had saved…

Only she hadn't saved him. She hadn't been here, and she hadn't saved him, and he had…

"Lindel?"

Boromir's voice, laced with concern, brought her back to the present. She met his eyes, filled with understanding that he couldn't voice. He knew. He remembered too and he knew what she was thinking, what she was feeling. Knowing that helped a little. She swallowed and tried to remember how to breathe again, forcing air into her lungs.

"I'm sorry," she managed to say when she'd taken a few breaths, "I'm so sorry, I… I don't know what happened."

"Perhaps you rose too quickly," Boromir suggested.

"Yeah, that's… that's probably it," she agreed, "I just felt so light-headed all of a sudden."

"You should rest, Calenhiril," Treebeard insisted, his large eyes wide, "You have been injured and your hastiness will only hinder your progress."

"The sooner we get started, the sooner it will be over," Mel answered with a wry smile, "But I think I will rest tonight, Treebeard, if you will allow us to impose upon your hospitality a little longer."

Treebeard was already waving a leafy hand at her.

"Of course, of course, little sister, you may stay as long as you have need."

"You are very kind," she said, "I hope someday we may repay your kindness."

"Your task will be repayment enough," he said, his eyes bright and distant, "To know of the Entwives once more… It is more than I had ever hoped for in my lifetime."

He smiled and then shook his head, the distance receding from his expression.

"But come, I will see that you are rested and safe this night at least."

* * *

The four of them were settled into in a little circle of trees, freshly transplanted in a sheltered corner of the fallen courtyard. Mel brushed her fingers against each tree in turn, smiling at the cheery greetings of the saplings. There was so much life here, and there would be still more before Treebeard was done. Isengard would recover, though slowly, and that comforted her a little.

"What are you doing, lass?" Gimli asked from where he'd settled at the base of one of the trees, "I thought you were supposed to be resting?"

"It would be rude not to greet our hosts first, Gimli," she answered.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Greet our hosts?"

She nodded at the tree he was leaning against.

"That one is called Hornbeam, and he doesn't care for the way your axe is digging into his bark."

Gimli jumped to his feet and snatched his axe from where it leaned on the trunk, barely pricking the surface of the thin silver skin. The tree shivered and the dwarf brandished his axe, backing away with a skeptical expression. Mel laughed and Gimli narrowed his eyes at her.

"What is the meaning of all this?"

"You are in the presence of the Calenhiril, Master Dwarf," Boromir said, a smile touching his own lips, "The Daughter of Yavanna and Speaker for the Trees. What power is given to her is given also to her rooted kinsmen. I would have a care how you speak and act toward them and her, or you might find yourself dangling from your ankle in a most compromising position."

Boromir caught Mel's eye and winked. Mel bit her lip to keep from laughing again. She remembered Gimli's first experience with the power of the Yavannacor, and though at the time it had been frightening and strange, now it seemed only a funny anecdote, one that she suddenly wished Gimli still shared with them.

"You're perfectly safe, Gimli," she said when she was sure that she could control her expression, "Hornbeam was _laughing._ That's why he shook."

Gimli eyed the tree for another wary moment.

"Trees that walk, trees that talk, might as well fly next," he grumbled, but he settled against the tree again, laying his axe in the grass by his side.

"I should see to your wound."

Legolas had approached without Mel hearing him and she jumped at the sudden nearness of his voice. His tone was as carefully neutral as his expression, his healing supplies in his hands. Mel searched his face for a moment, trying to find something that might help her crack his icy shell, to find the elf that she had known and loved… but there was nothing of him there, not that she could see at any rate.

"Alright."

She sat in the grass and allowed Legolas to begin carefully unwrapping her bandages. Her shoulder and collarbone ached and stung, but she sat rigidly still and kept her eyes firmly forward. She didn't know how to feel anymore, or what she should do. He was so changed from the elf she had known. Had she really affected his life so profoundly? Or was this how he had always been and she'd just been blind to it?

"You seek the entwives."

The words, spoken almost like an accusation, nearly made Mel jump.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell us from the beginning?"

"Would you have believed me?" Mel asked, turning to watch him, "Would you have believed any of this, if you hadn't seen it with your own eyes?"

He scowled at her for a moment, clenching his jaw stubbornly, but then dropped his eyes back to her wound. Of course he wouldn't have believed her. Even now if she tried to tell him half the things she wanted to, he wouldn't believe her.

"I… confess," he said, hesitantly, "I have felt something… amiss. Your reluctance to trust us with the truth has made it difficult for me to put my faith in your good intentions."

Mel snorted.

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

Legolas flinched almost imperceptibly. She sighed.

"Legolas, really, we're very grateful for your help…" She hissed as the last of her bandage was peeled away, gritting her teeth for a moment, "…but I understand what you've been through. Better than you think, actually. I know you must be _more_ than ready to go home. And you were right, this isn't your concern. This thing, it was given to me. I'll make sure it gets done."

Legolas stared at her for a long moment, his fingers still on her momentarily forgotten wound as he searched her face, looking almost puzzled.

"I believe you," he murmured, sounding as if he barely even believed he was saying it, "And I believe, Lindel of Ithilien, that if there is anyone in all of Middle Earth to find the Entwives, it is you."

Mel lost her words. That… That had almost sounded like… like _her_ Legolas. But then he dropped his eyes back to her wound, spreading the cooling salve, and the gentle tone was nothing more than a wishful memory.

"But for once, I think Gimli has the right of things."

"Blessed Mahal, could I get that in writing?" Gimli exclaimed, but Legolas ignored him.

"And as much as I long to wander the forests of my home once more, I have seen too much of prophecy, Lindel, to believe we met only by happenstance. I would be shamed if I returned to the trees of my youth knowing I allowed the wives of their shepherds to remain shrouded and lost, and did nothing to help them."

Legolas finished with the salve and began to rewrap her shoulder in a clean bandage, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"If you will have us, my lady, we will follow you."

It was only then that Mel realized she was holding her breath and she let it out, slow and only slightly shaky. He was offering his help. Mel glanced at Boromir, but he was merely watching her with an emotionless expression, completely devoid of opinion or thought, waiting to see what she would do.

 _This is your quest, Melody Calenhiril_ _… We will do what you think is best._

Mel knew that they needed the help that Legolas was offering. She was in no state to properly defend herself if they were attacked on the road and there was safety in numbers. But still she hesitated. It had been challenging to ride for even one day with Legolas and Gimli, both mentally and emotionally. What would it be like to ride with them for days, possibly weeks, or even _months_? What if either she or Boromir slipped, revealed memories that hadn't happened or, god forbid, what if she called him by the wrong name? How would they ever explain? Would it cause too much heartache?

But as these thoughts flitted through her mind, something Legolas had said whispered over it.

… _I have seen too much of prophecy, Lindel, to believe we met only by happenstance…_

Was it just a coincidence that, of _all_ the people in _all_ of Middle Earth, it had been Legolas and Gimli to come to their rescue on the plains of Rohan? Was it mere chance that had flung them together again? Or had they been _brought_ together, for this specific purpose? Because Yavanna, or even a Higher Power than that, had known that Mel would need help, more than Boromir alone could provide? Was this _someone_ _'s_ way of telling her that they could not do this on their own?

Legolas was watching her, studying her face, and she realized he was waiting for an answer. And despite her reservations, she knew what the right answer was.

"Alright," she said, "If you wish to continue with us, we would be very glad of your help."

"Excellent!" Gimli exclaimed, making Mel jump and Legolas drop the fresh bandage in his hands, "We're off again! Turning into a pair of professional questers, lad. We'll have to set wages before too long or others might try to take advantage of our generous services."

"I fully intend to make this our final quest, my friend," Legolas answered with a hint of a smile, "You shall have to find another companion if you wish to continue in the profession."

Mel could not help but smile too as he finished wrapping her shoulder, gently tucking in the bandage's loose ends. Maybe… Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

The next day, the four of them began preparations for their journey and the first order of business was deciding where, exactly, they were going. As much as Mel wanted to believe there was something to the hobbits' tales of the Old Forest, she still felt inexplicably drawn toward Rivendell, the desire to start her search where it had all began, and surprisingly no one argued with her when she broached the subject. In fact, they mostly seemed to think it was a great idea.

"It's a good place to start," Legolas said, as they munched on bread, cheese, and fruit under the midday sun, "The forests surrounding Imladris have long been rumored to hold secrets even the Eldar could not discern. I do not think the Entwives will be found there, for if they were there to be found I believe Lord Elrond's people would have discovered them, but we might yet uncover some clue to their whereabouts."

"And if we do decide to strike out for Breeland afterward, it is a good place to rest and resupply," Boromir added, "I fear the North-South Road will not provide us easy passage."

"The Greenway is treacherous, but not impassable," Legolas said.

"Agreed," Boromir answered, "But the promise of a warm welcome at the end of the long road will greatly improve the journey, I expect."

"So are we agreed?" Gimli asked.

The three of them turned to look at Mel. And that was _definitely_ weird, everyone looking at _her_ , waiting for _her_ to give the okay, to make the final decision. She was used to being the one following, trying to keep up, not leading. She clenched her jaw and nodded as decisively as she could.

"The North-South Road," she agreed firmly, "When do we leave?"

The answer to that question turned out to be the next morning. Treebeard gladly provided them with as much food as their horses could carry. Legolas and Gimli also had several wafers of lembas between them from their previous adventures, so their little company was not likely to starve, at least. As the sun was rising over the lip of the valley of Isengard, they said their final good-byes to the ents.

"Safe travels, little sister," Treebeard rumbled in Old Entish, his eyes alight with a tentative hope.

Mel waited for him to finish, and then responded in kind.

"I will return with news, for good or ill."

When the last mutterings of the phrase had finally left her lips, Treebeard smiled.

"May the blessings of our Mother go with you all," he said, in Common speech for the benefit of her companions, "You embark on a sacred journey with one that is precious to us. Take care, all of you!"

Legolas and Boromir both bowed, while Gimli raised his axe in a salute. Mel wondered if the irony of such a gesture was recognized by anyone but her. She kept her smile to herself.

They left the gates of Orthanc behind and turned west, the sun warming their backs, the mountains rising to their right. The pace was set at a swift but steady canter, but when a halt was called at noon and the state of Mel's injury assessed, it was quickly decided (despite Mel's strenuous and fervent assertions to the contrary) that maintaining such a pace was not going to be feasible. Between Boromir's hovering and Legolas' lament over the state of her wound, Mel didn't stand a chance, and Gimli was no help at all, puffing on his pipe and watching the proceedings with nothing more than a huff of amusement at his friend's fussing. It wasn't even really fussing, Legolas' matter-of-fact proclamations, and it felt awkward and strange to Mel. But she soon discovered that there was also no use in arguing against it.

As Legolas was rewrapping Mel's wound, he nodded toward the mountain range.

"Look, Gimli," he said, "The summit of Caradhras does not seem so imposing from here."

The dwarf snorted.

"Yes well, I suppose without the meddling magic of wizards it is just a mountain, like any other."

Mel looked in the direction Legolas had indicated.

"Which is Caradhras?"

Legolas pointed at one of the taller summits, slightly curved over at the top.

"That peak there," he said, "Our company attempted to cross this mountain range not so long ago."

"Feels like a lifetime, if you want the truth of it, lass," Gimli muttered, "A trek of fools leading other fools steadily onward."

"You could not have known, my friend," Legolas said, a touch of fond reassurance in his tone, "None of us could have known what we would find."

"Aye," the dwarf grumbled, "Suppose it turned out alright in the end."

"Just as it should have," Mel said, half to herself.

She caught Boromir's warning glance and shake of his head from the corner of her eye, but Legolas and Gimli seemed perfectly at ease, neither appearing to harbor any suspicions at her words.

"Come, we can pass through the Gap before nightfall," Legolas said, packing up the dressing supplies.

"And put these wretched mountains at our backs," Gimli agreed, tapping out his pipe and hauling himself to his feet.

Despite their slowed pace (usually a walk, interspersed with infrequent trots and occasional canters when Mel was insistent to the point of annoying) they reached the Gap of Rohan well before nightfall, passing beneath the mountains' shadows to either side. The Gap was narrow, but not long, and there was still a bit of daylight left when they reached the other side, but Boromir insisted that they make camp rather than moving on. Mel didn't understand it, but she deferred to his judgment, and Gimli had soon built up a cheery fire from surrounding dried shrubs, while Legolas tended her wound (which had once again bled through the bandages and was throbbing with more intensity than Mel was willing to admit), and they spent the night in relative peace and quiet.

The next morning it became abundantly clear why Boromir had insisted they go no further the night before. The road turned sharply north, and suddenly the clear trek that their little group had followed since Isengard was little more than an abandoned pathway, overgrown and broken, the forest encroaching on the road in a desperate bid to reclaim what Men had tried to tame. The trees of this forest whispered and murmured suspiciously, hesitant about intruders in their little-traversed domain. Mel tried to reassure them, but the suspicion was so deeply ingrained that it did little good. They weren't hostile toward her group specifically, but the general feeling of unease concerned her.

That night as the group was settling down to sleep, the first scream ripped the air and Mel was on her feet, hand on her sword, before the last echo had faded.

"Easy, lass," Gimli soothed, though his own hand rested on the head of his axe, "They're still well into the mountains, I'd wager."

"How can you be sure?" she asked, eyes flicking through the shadows of the trees, shuddering and swaying in the breeze off the mountains.

"The echos," Legolas answered with a calm certainty, "If they were within the forest, the sound would echo differently."

Gimli humphed.

"I was _going_ to say something appropriately mysterious, such as 'Dwarves know the sounds of the mountains in their very souls…', but of course you'd have to go and sound all _reasonable_ about it."

"What are friends for?" Legolas said, tossing a grin in the dwarf's direction, "I wouldn't want you to develop an inflated sense of your own importance."

Gimli harumphed and puffed vigorously two or three times on his pipe. Mel shut her eyes and took a moment to listen to the forest. Far to the east there was a murmur of discontent that spoke of dark creatures ('black rock beasts', the trees called them) scuttling close by, but never breaching the treeline.

"Goblins," Boromir murmured close to her ear, "I encountered them before."

The warmth of his presence at her side was a considerable comfort and she slowly relaxed the white-knuckled grip on her sword hilt.

"Gimli is right, they rarely leave their mountain tunnels, even at night. Only at great need or if they are drawn out," He kicked at the embers of their fire, smothering the last of the light, "I see no reason to tempt our fate."

"Nor I," Legolas agreed, only an outline of his form visible now, "I will keep the watch tonight, I think."

There were murmurs of agreement all around, and Boromir took Mel's hand, leading her back to their bedrolls. As they lay there in the dark, Mel listened to the trees mutter angrily amongst themselves, and she thought she understood. If she lived always in the shadow of goblins, she'd be bitter too. She pressed closer to Boromir's side and he tightened the grip of his arm around her. Mel fell into a fitful sleep, the angry mutterings of the trees and the echoing squeals of the goblins mixing themselves in her dreams.

* * *

The Eldar do not dream as other races, because Elves do not sleep. At least, not in the commonly understood sense of the word. Even at rest, they are alert, always aware of their surroundings, always 'awake'.

This was what made the dreams so unsettling.

Because Legolas was always aware of the waking world when the dreams came to him. He was in the present, but he was also in the past, his eyes scanning the darkened forest for goblins, and watching the sea of orcs pour from the Black Gates. His mind was a chaotic jumble and a peaceful calm, aware that what he was seeing wasn't real and still so lost in the sights and sensations that it was sometimes difficult to differentiate the waking world from the world of his dream. He sometimes believed, if only for a moment, that he had never left the Morannon, that his dream world was his waking reality and the forest was the dream. He could remember so vividly, the hopelessness, the desperation, the stink and the sweat and the blood. So many had fallen, all around, but they had stood together, the four…

No.

No, it was two. Gimli had stood with him, always the dwarf, steady and able, fighting back to back, swords swinging…

 _No._

That wasn't right. Gimli did not wield a sword, he had swung his axe with a precision and skill that had quite frankly baffled and amazed Legolas, he could remember the dwarf turning to her…

 _ **NO.**_

No, to him. Turning to him and laughing uproariously for no reason except that they were still alive…

… _alive…_

There was screaming. He was screaming. His mind was screaming, though his tongue was silent, frozen to the roof of his mouth and there was only one word, over and over and over, like a chant, a screaming, desperate chant, but it didn't make sense, it was not a word for the battlefield, not a word for war, not a word that elves screamed as their worlds fell down around them…

He jerked upright and the dream faded, as they always did, a dim echo of screams and blood and a sense that he was forgetting something, something terribly important, and there was no way to bring it back again. It was _lost_ , lost forever, and he didn't even know what it was he was missing. It was a word, a word on the tip of his tongue, but he could not grasp it…

His eyes flickered over the camp and grazed the forms of Esgalion and Lindel, huddled together in the dark. The dreams had begun well before they had met, but this sense of something missing, something _lost,_ had followed close on the heels of the night they'd crossed paths. A part of it was perhaps Esgalion and his uncanny likeness to their fallen comrade, reopening old wounds. And there was the girl. Something about her still irked him. It wasn't the revelation of her power or her quest. It was something in her face, something in her manner, something in the names they used for one another. It gnawed at Legolas like nothing ever had in his life. His mind and heart still warred against each other, and though he could not hear the words, he knew that there was something more… something else… something missing…

Legolas leaned back against the trunk of a tree and returned his eyes to his watch. He did not allow his mind to rest.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N** :I forgot to say this last week, in my excitement to get back to posting chapters, but I greatly appreciate all the reviews I've received for this fourth installment of Changing History! I read every single one and you guys are amazing! I can't thank you enough for the kind words and encouragement I receive, it really means a lot that so many of you are still here after all this time :) Okay, enough sentiment, on with the story!

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

The goblins found them three days later.

Mel jerked upright so suddenly, at first she wasn't even certain why she was awake. She blinked groggily and peered into the pre-dawn gloom, searching for whatever it was that had disturbed her sleep…

"… _oming, Calenhiril, they're coming, THEY'RE COMING!"_

She tossed off her blanket and rolled to her feet, hands fumbling for the sword at her side.

"Get up!" she shouted, her voice hoarse from sleep and strained by the furious terror of the trees in her head, " _Get up_!"

"What is it, Me… my love?"

Boromir was beside her, sword in hand, his momentary verbal slip the only clue that his mental faculties might be inhibited by his interrupted sleep.

"The trees," she said, her eyes flitting over the darkened forest, "The trees are shouting. Something's coming our way."

"What's coming?" Legolas muttered from her other side, an arrow nocked to the string of his bow as if he were not questioning her.

"The black mountain beasts…" Mel said, repeating the furious mantra of the trees in her head, "Goblins…"

The forest shuddered and swayed in the still, heavy air. Gimli, who had been the last to rouse and the least concerned until this moment, growled and gripped his axe in both hands.

"How many? What direction? Let them taste my iron!"

"I don't know," she said, turning in a slow circle, trying to listen, trying to understand, "From the mountains. A group, not small. Close."

"How close?" Legolas asked.

"I don't know!" Mel snapped, the anger of the trees bleeding into her voice. She thought her head might split from the shouting, the incoherent cacophony, and finally she threw up her hand, the Yavannacor flashing brilliant green.

" _ **Stop!"**_

Her voice ripped out of her chest like a shock wave and the trees fell silent. It was an eerie silence, devoid of even the noise of rustling, a heavy pause that hung motionless in the air…

…and then a branch snapped.

There was a piercing shriek and they were surrounded, dark, twisted shapes springing out of the dark, cackling and chittering maniacally. The four travelers turned as one, back to back, falling into a fighting rhythm almost as instinctive as breathing. There weren't many of them, but the goblins were used to fighting in the dark and, despite Legolas' superior eyesight and Gimli's dwarven night vision, that put their party at a distinct disadvantage. The wound on Mel's collarbone stretched and screeched in protest as she lashed out at the nearest hunched shape. She tried to force the pain into a tiny corner of her mind, to put it away to think about later, but it was becoming more and more insistent with every passing strike.

She managed a clean slice through the throat of a twisted little beast and whirled to meet the next attack. Boromir was in conflict with a spiny creature, who kept slipping away, tittering madly, keeping Boromir's focus fixed on him instead of the abnormally tall goblin at his back, raising his crooked blade to deliver what was sure to be a decapitating blow. Mel's voice froze in her throat. She couldn't call out. She couldn't…

"Boromir!"

Without question the man whirled and dropped into a crouch, missing the goblin blade by scant inches as an arrow sprouted in the beast's throat. He gurgled and crumpled to the ground, the last of his kind to fall as the rest of the raiding party fled into the woods. Mel had to remember how to breathe again, swallowing a single gulp of air as she ran to Boromir's side.

"Oh my god, oh my god, are you okay?" she asked breathlessly, grabbing his arm as he pushed himself to his feet.

"Yes," he said, "Yes, I'm fine."

But he wasn't looking at her. He was looking over her shoulder, his eyes narrowed, not quite in suspicion, but in something dangerously close to it. Mel turned to see what he was looking at.

Legolas stood behind her, bow seemingly forgotten in his hand, staring at Boromir with a frozen expression of speechless shock… and that was when Mel remembered the voice, the voice she had heard shout Boromir's name, his _real_ name _._ Legolas' voice.

"I…" the elf began, but his voice broke just the tiniest bit and he swallowed, dropping his eyes, "Forgive me, Esgalion. I did not mean…"

"You saved my life," Boromir said, his voice carefully neutral, "It seems I am once again in your debt, Legolas of the Mirkwood realm."

He removed himself from Mel's grasp and took two strides to stand before Legolas, his hand outstretched. The elf gave him a long, unreadable look, and then slowly grasped the offered hand.

"You owe me nothing," Legolas said, "It is what he would have done."

Mel saw the slight stiffening of Boromir's spine and a smile twitched at her lips.

"They won't have gone far," Gimli said, his eyes still scanning the tree line, rapidly brightening with the coming dawn, "They have our scent now. We should leave this place and quickly."

"Agreed," Boromir said, dropping Legolas' hand and moving to roll up their bedding, "Goblins of the Misty Mountains might have no love of sunlight, but they know these lands better than we and they will be hunting us, even from their tunnels. We should put as much distance between us as possible before nightfall."

Legolas and Gimli parted to gather their own supplies, and Mel sheathed her sword, intending to join Boromir in packing their belongings. But her hand felt strangely wet and slightly tacky. She was oddly reminded of a sensation from her childhood, of dipping her whole hand in a container of finger paint, warmed by the sun through the porch screen. Some small part of her thought it was strange she should think of that, so far away from where and when it had happened, but a larger part of her was staring at her hand, a hand covered in blood, dripping in a lazy trail from her fingers, and realizing that her shoulder was screaming in pain and she was dizzy, the light of the new dawn both too bright and rapidly dimming.

"I… Es…"

Her lips would not form words. She had the intense impulse to wipe her hand, but revulsion prevented her from using her trousers for the job. She sank to her knees, reaching for a clump of grass, determined to at least clean the dripping blood from her hand so she could help gather their things together. They should be moving. She couldn't slow them down…

"Lindel!"

Boromir's voice was close and panicked. He took her uninjured shoulder and turned her before she was able to wipe the blood from her fingers.

"Stars above," he whispered, "Legolas!"

The elf was with them in less than a blink, unwrapping the soaked-through bandages and muttering what Mel thought might be elvish curses under his breath.

"She's ripped through the stitches," he said, cleaning away the blood and applying a thin layer of cooling salve before tightly wrapping her wound in fresh bandage, "We'll see to it later. The wrappings will have to do for now."

The salve muffled the screaming pain to a dull roar, and even though Mel still felt as if her head were two times less heavy than it should be, the second Legolas finished his work she pushed to her feet, blinking the momentary spots out of her eyes.

"We need to go," she managed to say with very little hint of weakness in her voice, "We can't let them know they hurt us. We have to keep moving."

Boromir had a firm hold on her elbow and his face was a stone mask of concern.

"Are you sure…?"

"I'm fine," Mel said, a little more sharply than she'd intended. She patted his hand reassuringly and forced a smile, "I'll be fine. Let's just get away from here."

To his credit, Boromir did not look entirely convinced, but rather than arguing, he simply nodded and finished packing their bags. He loaded Mel's pack onto her horse for her, but she drew the line at allowing him to physically lift her into the saddle, accepting a boost up instead, trying to put as little pressure on her injured arm as possible. Once she was seated and the dark spots had cleared from her vision again, she was surprised to catch Gimli giving her a shrewd once-over from the back of Legolas' horse.

"Alright there, lass?" he asked with an air of nonchalance that did not make it to his face.

Mel forced a small grin.

"As well as can be expected, Master Dwarf."

He nodded, but looked even less convinced than Boromir had. Legolas seemed to be making a decided effort not to acknowledge her in any way, but that wasn't unusual. He'd been doing that since they'd 'met'. Still it felt a bit more forced now, as if he had to put conscious effort into _not_ looking at her. Mel wondered briefly why he was bothering.

They set off at a determined walk in deference to Mel's injury, despite her continued insistence that she was fine. It soon became apparent that she was being ignored, so she gave it up and the party lapsed into silence as the sun rose over the mountains, painting the forest in dappled greens. The trees occasionally rustled in nonexistent breezes, muttering and cursing the black creatures that tainted the land, plying Mel with pleas for retribution.

" _Give us the power to destroy them, Calenhiril…"_

" _Give us the power to keep them at bay…"_

" _Give us the power to keep you safe…"_

" _Give us the power…"_

"Lindel?"

She jumped at Boromir's voice, close to her side when she had been sure a moment ago that he wasn't.

"Are you feeling well? You look very pale."

"I'm fine," she said, her eyes flitting through the trees as they rustled again, rippling across the path as their party moved beneath the canopy, "I'm fine."

"I imagine your leafy friends are even less convinced of that than we are, lass," Gimli said gruffly, his hand resting uneasily on his axe, "You might want to try a different lie, add some variety to the act."

"They're angry," she said, "And scared. They feel defenseless and used. All they want is my help."

"Then help them," Legolas said, his voice almost sharp, "You are their protector, are you not? You are the keeper of a power that can aid them."

"A power that comes at great cost," Boromir snapped before Mel could reply, "You do not know what it is you ask, Prince of the Mirkwood."

Legolas' eyes flicked back toward Boromir, but he said nothing. Mel, however, felt like she owed him more explanation than that, if only to help build the trust that was so painfully lacking between them.

"It comes from me," she said, "The power they seek, it's dependent on my own strength. I can give them what I have, but I can't guarantee it would be enough to make a significant difference. Believe me, I would if I could."

"And at the expense of her own life," Boromir added, barely more than a disturbed mutter, "I have witnessed it. It is not something you wish to experience, or encourage."

Legolas nodded, but made no reply.

They rode until they had the security of the sun high in the sky before pausing to rest, and Mel would have fallen from her horse attempting to dismount if Boromir had not been waiting to catch her. She nearly passed out in his arms, keeping the darkness at bay by sheer force of will. Boromir did not even have to call out for Legolas, he was simply there, waiting with fresh bandages and something hastily mixed together in a bowl.

"Drink."

Mel did not have the strength to question him, but she recognized the clean, fresh taste as soon as it touched her lips. Before she could form any protest, she was falling into a dark, dreamless sleep.

* * *

When she woke, it was only a few hours later, the sun still above the tree tops. She shifted slightly and felt the pull of new stitching underneath her bandages. Boromir was beside her in an instant, hovering.

"You're awake," he said and Mel rolled her eyes.

"No thanks to your new elf friend," she grumbled, working herself up onto her elbows, "Seriously, you should warn a girl before you drug her into a stupor."

"You would not have consented otherwise," Boromir said, a small smile tugging on the corners of his lips as he slipped an arm around her to help her into a more upright position.

"We clearly need to have a serious conversation about the word 'consent'," she said, but she was smiling too and the truth was she felt infinitely better, "Are we ready to go? We have some daylight left."

"Only if you feel up to the task," Boromir said, "We have plenty of cover here and clear lines of sight if you wish to remain."

"… _too close, Calenhiril, you are still too close…"_ the trees whispered and Mel shuddered.

"We're too close," she echoed, "I feel much better. We should try to go farther if we can."

"We are approaching Tharbad," Boromir said, "If we follow the road…"

"The crossing at Tharbad is too treacherous, even in daylight," Legolas cut in abruptly, "Even if we reached it, we would never be able to ford the Gwathló."

"But if we did, we would have the river at our backs and the ruins of the city as cover," Boromir insisted, "Even if the goblins did follow us so far from the mountains, we would have a greater chance of defending ourselves in such a position."

"The company we parted from at Rohan was making for the gates of Moria," Legolas said, "There is safety to be found among them and it is only a few days ride-"

"-along the edge of the mountains, where the goblins are more likely to strike," Boromir argued, "We would be forced to leave what little road is left to us for wild lands unknown."

"And you presume to know the Greenway so well?" Legolas snapped, "You have just as little experience along this way as any of us."

Boromir opened his mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it shut again. He actually _had_ traveled this way before, in another lifetime. But as Mel remembered, it had not gone exceptionally well for him. She could still vividly remember seeing him for the first time, dirty, disheveled, and decidedly out of sorts and patience.

"I will always choose the proven paths over the wilds of the uncharted forest," Boromir said at last.

"Do we not have a tree-witch in our midst?" Gimli asked, speaking for the first time.

Mel flinched. Even though 'tree-witch' was said with a decided sort of fondness, somehow that made it worse instead of better. Because Gimli didn't know, didn't remember…

"Is this not the lady's quest?" the dwarf continued, oblivious, waving his pipe in her direction, "What say you, Lady of the Wood? Do we follow the path or trust in your tree minions?"

Mel balked, her eyes flitting back and forth between Boromir and Legolas, who were both looking at her with hard, unflinching expressions, stubborn to a fault the both of them. Why did she always have to choose, why _this_ choice, _always_ , between Legolas and Boromir? She was no expert quester or adventuress. This was not her area in any way! Fleetingly, she thought of Frodo, standing in the snow on the summit of Caradhras and hearing the words 'Let the Ring-bearer decide', asked to make an impossible choice that he had no business making and having to live with the terrible consequences, whatever they might be.

… _now the choice is laid before you…_

She blinked and sucked in a breath. She was not surrounded by snow or the black rock of the Morannon. But the sun was setting quickly and if they were going anywhere, it needed to be now.

She considered her options. She was afraid of the goblins. She didn't know if they were being tracked, but the possibility certainly existed. Staying close to the mountains meant staying closer to the goblins, but it also meant the safety of the trees, their own built-in early warning system.

On the other hand, Boromir's plan seemed solid enough. And the cover of the abandoned city and the river sounded appealing… until Mel remembered something obscure about Boromir's travels, something so small she was surprised she remembered it at all. Boromir had lost his horse crossing that river. It had been dangerous. And if Mel was really honest with herself, she knew didn't have the strength to make it if the worst should happen in the crossing. And then what would happen to the Entwives?

"The trees will keep us safe," she said finally, before she could change her mind, "The company were heading to Rivendell anyway. I think it would be best to meet them."

Boromir stiffened in the periphery of her vision and Mel regretted that she could not discuss her logic with him. She didn't know if he would have agreed, but at least he would have understood where she was coming from. Legolas only nodded and swept to his feet, not seeming any happier that she had chosen his route over Boromir's.

"We should go. The light is fading."

The travelers packed up and rode out again, keeping the mountains to their right and leaving the broken Greenway behind. They rode until the sun touched the horizon to the west. When they made camp, they built no fire and no one spoke much. They set watches and ate a cold supper before bedding down for the night.

Boromir volunteered for the first watch and Mel sat up with him, though her injury had been seen as a sufficient reason not to assign her watch duty. He had spoken very little all afternoon and his expression betrayed nothing of what he was thinking, a skill that Mel sometimes wished he didn't have. She waited until Gimli's snores could be heard echoing in the dark, and then she spoke softly, pressed into his side.

"You're angry with me."

Boromir didn't respond for so long that she wondered if he was going to respond at all. But finally he sighed and she felt a little of his stiffness leech out of him.

"Yes," he admitted, "I am angry. Or at least I was."

Mel nodded.

"I know what happened at Tharbad," she said, being sure to keep her voice down and her tone neutral. There was no telling how much Legolas could hear, "At least, I know a little. I wish I knew the whole tale, but what I do know…"

She trailed off, trying to think of a diplomatic way to put it.

"…the information didn't exactly recommend the route to me."

Boromir nodded, leaning in until his head bumped hers so he could whisper in her ear.

"It was a way I was familiar with, even with its perils. I only wish you could have trusted my judgment over his."

Mel jerked away and bit back a sharp retort, forcing a breath through her nose before she replied.

"It's not _about_ you versus him," she hissed, "It never was. I think after everything, you could at least trust that."

She stood up and marched into the dark, fumbling her way to her bedroll and curling up in a defiant ball. Boromir did not call after her, but she hadn't really given him a chance. It was dangerous, discussing such things in the open like this, with Legolas' sharp elven ears always listening.

She tugged her blanket tighter around herself and closed her eyes, listening to the muttering of the forest in her mind, though the sound was far from soothing. The trees were restless, anxious, and it seeped into Mel's bones and blood, running through her like a drug. She didn't sleep well, but she refused to toss and turn, remaining stubbornly on her side.

She was still half-awake when Boromir's watch ended, and she felt him slip into his bedroll beside her, laying very still on his back for a long while. She could almost _feel_ him thinking. Mel had nearly decided that she was going to roll over and put her back to him when he finally slipped an arm around her and pulled her close, tucking her tightly to his side and laying his cheek on top of her head.

"You are right," he murmured softly into her hair, "I am sorry, my love."

She sighed and allowed herself to settle into his arms.

"I'm sorry too," she said, "I know this is hard. I'm not even sure I made the right call, but now that I've made it I need you to trust me. Please."

Boromir turned to press a kiss to her temple.

"I would follow you anywhere," he whispered, "To the ends of the earth, if need be."

Mel smiled and finally felt herself relax enough to push the anxious mutterings of the forest aside and drift into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

The goblins were tracking them. The trees told Mel that they were. They had returned to the mountains to gather reinforcements, and now they were tracking them through the mountain tunnels. The second night, Mel woke to the alarm of the surrounding trees, insisting that the creatures were close. Gimli wanted to stay and fight, but Mel's recently torn stitches spoke against the wisdom of that. And so they fled, Mel leading the way through the dark, pre-dawn forest. Once she had described the group they were searching for, it was a simple enough task for the trees to point them in the right direction. The company of elves and men that they sought was not a small one.

Boromir stayed by Mel's side. She could sense more than see him, but she knew he was there. It comforted her as she led them on, the trees whispering hurriedly in her mind: "… _get out, get out, get away, they are coming_ _…"_

The sun was just beginning to paint the tops of the mountains when they came upon the first of the watch.

Mel pulled her horse up sharply and Boromir sidled up beside her, his hand on his sword, his eyes scanning the trees.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice barely above a murmur.

"Elves," Mel said, a touch of relief coloring her tone, "We've reached the border of the encampment. They've seen us."

And at just that moment, two hooded figures stepped out of the woods, bows drawn and trained on the travelers. Mel worked very hard not to flinch. But the tension did not last long, only a few moments, and then one of the bows dropped marginally and a painfully familiar voice spoke from under the hood.

"Nan aear ar in elin, hanar, look who it is! Legolas Thranduilion, danoduleg? We thought we'd gotten rid of you!"

Legolas urged his horse out of the shadows and both bows dropped instantly, hoods tossed back in stunning synchronization to reveal two identical grins. Mel felt the color drain from her face and hoped that the dim light would hide it.

"Elladan, Elrohir!" Legolas exclaimed, returning their smiles, "Mê g'ovannen! We are being pursued, and hoped we might take refuge with your father."

The twins exchanged one of their infamous glances that spoke volumes without any words. Mel's chest constricted.

"The goblins of Moria are restless," Elrohir (god, she could still tell them apart, the subtle difference in appearance almost painfully clear) said with a solemn nod, "Our father says that we shall depart this place today. I am sure that you and your companions…"

Here he spared a glance in Mel and Boromir's direction, but it was barely more than cursory, with no recognition of any kind. Mel felt both heartbroken and relieved.

"…could find refuge with us, and journey on to our House. It is only a few days travel from here."

"We would be indebted to you," Legolas answered.

Both twins shook their heads, but Elladan was the one to speak this time.

"Nonsense! I said that you should have stayed with us in the beginning, did I not? You should have listened to me, instead of taking off with that dwarf…"

"I am very much within hearing distance, Master Elf!" Gimli blustered, "You would do well to watch your tongue!"

Elladan feigned an expression of surprise.

"My most abject apologies, Gimli! I am afraid I simply did not see you there, so small are you in stature to your honored comrade."

Legolas held up a hand, though he was smiling.

"Please, friends, let us save the quarrel for another day, when our lives are not in danger."

"Agreed," Elrohir said, as if side-stepping an all-too-familiar argument, "Let us take you to Ada. I am sure he will be pleased to see you, as will the others."

Mel felt a sudden jolt that nearly made her jump.

… _as will the others…_

… _the others…_

Oh… Oh, she was so _stupid._ She hadn't even thought... But it was too late now, and with a new reluctance she followed the twins into the trees.

* * *

 **Elvish Translations:**  
 _(all translations are Sindarin, unless otherwise noted)_

Nan aear ar in elin- By the sea and stars

Hanar- Brother

Danoduleg?- You again?

Mê g'ovannen!- Well met!

Ada- Father


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** I'm sorry about the delay, guys. I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, and I'm still not entirely sure I'm happy with it, but I figure I've made you wait long enough :) There is some Quenya in this chapter, translations are in a note at the bottom. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

The party was led through the forest and very soon the trees fell away, revealing a city of tents surrounding the rocky foothills leading up to the now-broken gates of Moria. No one seemed to take any notice of the new arrivals as they dismounted and their horses were led away almost absently. The twins wove their way expertly through the morning bustle and entered a large meeting tent without any ceremony whatsoever, Legolas and Gimli following in their wake.

Both Mel and Boromir hesitated. It was only for a moment, but they exchanged a glance and Mel knew that he was thinking the same thing she was. If anyone was going to recognize him, it would be here. Mel reached out and took his hand, squeezing gently and he returned the gesture. Together they took a steadying breath, and ducked inside.

The tent was dim, filled mostly with a large table that looked as if it were being cleared of a morning meal, a few elves scurrying about removing bowls of fruit and goblets. Elladan and Elrohir were standing with their father, whose head was bent over a parchment in his hand. He flicked a quill quickly over the bottom of the paper and handed it over to another elf before he looked up.

Lord Elrond seemed… tired. Far more tired than Mel could ever remember seeing him. And old, almost ancient, though his face had not physically changed. His eyes lacked something, some spark that Mel hadn't even noticed was there before, but now that it was gone she could sense its absence keenly and it made her heart ache.

"So, Legolas Thranduilion, you return to us much sooner than expected," he said, his voice still powerful and commanding, despite that sense of weariness, "You are well met indeed, as are you, Gimli son of Gloin. As for your other companions…"

He trailed off, his eyes sliding over Mel with almost no pause, and lingering almost a fraction of a moment too long on Boromir. But then he moved on, with no hint of anything amiss, and Mel let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"…they are unknown to me. Perhaps you would care to perform introductions."

Legolas bowed.

"Lord Elrond, I present Esgalion of Ithilien and his wife, Lindel. We came upon each other by happenstance, and Gimli and I have since taken up their… quest, of sorts, a sacred mission that has been entrusted to them. But the goblins of the Misty Mountains have set upon us, causing us to seek refuge with your company and ask admittance to your house, where knowledge of many things thought lost can be found."

"You seek something which has been lost?" Lord Elrond asked with a hint of intrigue, turning his eyes back to Boromir, "May I inquire what that might be?"

Boromir stood tall and straight under the elf-lord's gaze, but it was Mel that answered, the truth bubbling up almost without permission.

"We seek the entwives."

Elrond's gaze snapped to her, and some flicker of that spark seemed to reignite.

"The entwives have not been seen in many an age," he said, speaking slowly, deliberately, "There are many who believe they are gone forever."

"The one who sent me believes otherwise," Mel said, "I've been sent to bring them home, back to the light they have hidden from far too long."

"And who would deign to burden you with such a task?"

"My mother, Yavanna," Mel answered, "For I am called Calenhiril, and I bear her ring."

She lifted her hand and the emerald on her finger glittered, even though there wasn't enough light in the tent for it to have been possible. Elrond tilted his head curiously, but he didn't immediately discount her claim. Mel figured that had to be something.

"These are strange tidings," he murmured, before turning unexpectedly to Legolas, "You put your trust in her?"

Legolas visibly balked at the question and Mel felt her heart sink. He _still_ didn't trust her. He had pledged her his service, but she had still not earned his trust. And the worst part was she couldn't even be angry about it. After all, every breath she took in his presence was a lie.

"I have seen proof of the power she wields," Legolas hedged, his voice surprisingly level considering his hesitancy, "She speaks to the Ents in their own language and they call her sister."

"As well they should."

Mel whirled and came face-to-face with Gandalf the White, framed by the sun in the tent entrance. He regarded her for several long moments, his sharp blue eyes searching hers, though for what Mel couldn't guess. She resisted the urge to swallow nervously.

"Mithrandir, what do you know of this matter?" Lord Elrond asked, in what Mel could only describe as fond exasperation.

"I know that the Calenhiril lives and while she yet lives, so does hope for our friend Treebeard and all his kind."

Gandalf's eyes finally released Mel and flicked over her shoulder.

"We would do well to help her and her-" His eyes passed over Boromir, but didn't hesitate before returning to Lord Elrond, "-companions on their way. I imagine the journey to Rivendell was not taken lightly."

"I admit I've felt a strong draw to the place," Mel said, turning back to Lord Elrond, "The Last Homely House has long been known as a place of learning and wisdom. I had hoped I might find answers there."

Lord Elrond inclined his head politely.

"I do not know what answers you may find, but my house is open to all who seek to help those of Middle Earth. You would be most welcome for as long as you like."

"Not long, I think," Mel said, glancing at Boromir, whose rigid stance and clenched jaw was beginning to make her own body ache in sympathy, "Winter will be setting in and I would like to make as much progress as possible before the trees fall into sleep."

Elrond nodded and waved his hand absently.

"Of course, whatever you need. We will be leaving in a few hours, you may travel with us."

He seemed distracted again, ill at ease, and so the four companions bowed and took their leave of him. Legolas and Gimli split off immediately, probably to search for the hobbits or other companions. Gandalf followed Boromir and Mel from the tent.

"I wonder if I might speak to you," the wizard said, giving them a side-eyed glance, "Both of you."

Mel and Boromir exchanged an uneasy look.

"Of course," Mel said cautiously, "What can we do for you, sir?"

"I do not think it is a question of what you can do for _me_ ," Gandalf said, "But rather, what can I do for _you_ , Melody Calenhiril."

Mel opened her mouth to respond… and then froze, the breath trapped in her lungs. _Melody_ … He'd… He'd said…

The wizard's eyes were sparkling and Mel started to shake.

"…Gandalf?" she whispered, too afraid to believe, too scared to hope…

"My dear girl," the wizard said, opening his arms to her, his smile spreading from his eyes to the rest of his face, "How good it is to see you at last."

And then Mel was wrapped in the wizard's embrace, her face burrowed in his chest to prevent a sob from breaking loose. He knew her. He really _knew_ her, and she hadn't understood just how much it would mean, to be _known_ in a world that didn't remember her, to see a familiar face that found her own face familiar too. She managed to take a few steadying breaths and blink away her tears before she pulled back to search the wizard's face again. But he wasn't looking at her now. His eyes had strayed to Boromir, standing stiffly to one side, looking strangely helpless.

"Boromir of the White City," Gandalf said, his voice low, but powerful, "You have been most favored, Son of Gondor. I am pleased that you have found your place at last."

The wizard's words hit Boromir and whatever barrier he had placed around himself collapsed, his expression deflating into muted shock and relief.

"You _do_ know us," he whispered hoarsely, "How is this possible? We thought…"

"You did not think I was sent back to this world blind, did you?" Gandalf said, eyes twinkling mischievously, "My brief respite after the fall of the Balrog gave me knowledge beyond any comprehension, even mine. I did not know you until I saw you, but now I want to know everything. Mel, I remember your fall on the battlefield and I thought my heart might be torn in two, but that is the last memory I hold of the world that was. What happened? How have you returned to us?"

"That's…"

Mel trailed off, suddenly hyper-aware of the elves flitting to and fro around them, busy with preparations, but certainly not deaf. She wasn't sure it was wise to dive into the details here, especially not when someone they once knew could walk up on them at any moment.

"That is a long story," Boromir finished for her, stepping up beside her, their arms brushing, "One perhaps best saved for the walls of Rivendell."

"Ah," Gandalf said, his brow furrowing as he glanced about them surreptitiously, "Am I to assume then, that no one else has been blessed with the same enlightenment I have? Not even the companions you travel with?"

"You assume correctly," Boromir said, "It has been…"

He glanced at Mel, and then quickly away.

"…a difficult journey. But our task has made it necessary."

Gandalf nodded.

"Yes, I noticed your injury, Mel, in Lord Elrond's tent. He would have seen it himself, but he has been… distracted. The last few days have not been kind."

"He's lost his daughter," Mel said, "I get it."

Gandalf's smile bloomed on his face again.

"So your… _foresight_ continues as well. For how long, do you think?"

"Not long," Mel admitted, "After the fall of Sauron things get a little hazy. The story is almost finished, and after that it's all scattered, moments without dates or concrete details. Soon I won't be of much help to anyone anymore."

"Then you will be as much a part of this world as we are."

Mel swallowed. She hadn't thought about it like that, but she guessed it was true. Soon, there would be little left of her old life that could help her. She really would be a part of this world, for good.

"It is a strange thing indeed, the knowledge of what once was and what now is," Gandalf said, kindness softening his eyes, "I think now I understand a little of what you went through at the beginning, Melody Calenhiril, and I do not envy you. But you have been favored by the Valar, that much is clear."

"Sometimes I think we could have done without their _favor_ ," Boromir mumbled bitterly.

Gandalf frowned at him.

"Do not be so quick to assume that your life would have been better had they not intervened, Son of Gondor," the wizard said, "Remember what they have given you."

Boromir hung his head, but his jaw still flexed stubbornly.

"I do," he said, "Every day. And I remember what has been taken as well. What they might _still_ take from us. It is not an easy task we have been set, and the road has already been fraught with peril."

"But not impossible," Gandalf said, "Or you would not be here."

Then the wizard's smile brightened, and he waved his hand in the air, as if to dispel any lingering tension.

"But there will be time to debate such matters later, when we are not tired and hungry. Come, I expect there is a little of breakfast left, if you know where to look."

He winked and strode off, leaving Mel and Boromir little choice but to exchange bemused expressions and follow after him.

They ate what breakfast they could find in the madness of packing up such a large camp, filling Gandalf in on the details of their quest, as much as they could anyway. It was strange to hear him call them by their aliases, Esgalion and Lindel. Mel understood the need for it though, and she found that just knowing that he _knew_ it was a ruse made it a bit more bearable.

As they were leaving the tent that had served as their dining hall, Mel felt… _something_ , a strange presence sifting through her mind, something she had not felt in what felt like a lifetime. She turned…

Lady Galadriel was staring at her, her blue eyes piercing straight through Mel's mind, even from several tent lengths away. Mel froze in her tracks. Boromir and Gandalf were still walking, unaware that she had stopped, speaking in low voices that seemed muted and far away. Lady Galadriel's head tilted slightly to the side, her expression impassive. Lord Celeborn stood at her side, but he was deep in conversation with another elf, and neither took any notice when the queen slipped away, her strides long and sure, her eyes still pinning Mel to the spot. Mel swallowed. What should she do? She could not even bring herself to glance away, to see if Boromir or Gandalf had noticed yet that something was wrong. She could only watch and wait as the Lady of Lothlorien approached her, her expression frighteningly unreadable. She was so close that Mel could see the lines on her face, lines that had not been there the first time they'd met.

Those blue eyes pierced for another long moment.

"Your name, child?"

Lady Galadriel's voice was like soft music in Mel's ear and her breath caught in her throat. It took her a moment to reply.

"Li… Lindel, my lady."

The elf tilted her head, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Lindel…" she murmured absently, as if testing it on her tongue, "Tell me, child, have we met before? For your name speaks to my heart, but my mind cannot place you."

Mel's hands started trembling and she bunched them into fists.

"No, my lady."

Galadriel's eyes narrowed.

"Why do you lie?"

Mel's heart jumped to her throat and she had to swallow hard.

"I'm sorry, it's… it's complicated. I didn't mean any harm, my lady, I just…"

"You met her in another life, my lady," Gandalf said gently, gripping Mel's shoulder with a comforting steadiness, "She meant no deception, and indeed she spoke none. In this life, the two of you have never met."

Lady Galadriel's eyes did not leave Mel, but she nodded in acknowledgment of the wizard's words.

"Even with the power of our enemies vanquished our times are still strange and full of mystery," she said finally, "Forgive me, child. I feel in my heart there was a time we were of help to one another."

"You were a help to me, Lady Galadriel," Mel agreed, "Though I'm not sure I can say the same for myself. When I was lost, you helped me find my way."

The lady's eyes flicked over Mel's shoulder and the set of her face changed infinitesimally, hardened and sharpened.

"You," she said, her voice not quite as gentle as before, "I know you as well, though I sense that you are much changed from what you were before."

Mel flinched and reached behind her instinctively, fumbling until she found Boromir's hand and gripped it tightly. She could feel tension trembling through him.

"We saved each other," Mel said, "We are neither of us the same."

Lady Galadriel's eyes found their linked hands and then flicked back to Mel, searching. Finally, after what felt like an hour, but was only a moment, a smile spread across the queen's lips, growing until it reached her eyes and gleamed there.

"That is as it should be though I am prevented from seeing the whole truth of it," she said, "Something hides you from me, and hides you well, but still I rejoice in the hope you have found."

"Melda tárinya?"

The elf-queen turned toward Lord Celeborn's voice. He was eying the group of them curiously and Lady Galadriel reached out to clasp her husband's hand.

"All is well, veruya," she assured him, "I was only becoming acquainted with old friends."

The Lord of Lothlorien quirked an eyebrow at his wife's curious choice of words, favoring her with a small, endearing smile. Mel got the impression he was used to being slightly in the dark when it came to these things. He inclined his head to the rest of them politely.

"Please forgive the interruption," he said, "But we are needed."

"Of course," Gandalf said, answering for all of them.

The lord and lady bowed and left them, Galadriel throwing one last smile over her shoulder before they glided out of sight.

"The Lady of the Golden Wood is very perceptive," Gandalf muttered, almost to himself, "I am surprised that she gleaned so little."

"I think she might have gotten more than she let on," Mel said, "Like you said, she's very perceptive."

Gandalf nodded.

"True enough."

"We should take our leave," Boromir said, speaking for the first time, "I would like to check our horses and supplies before we break camp."

"I have many things to see to myself," Gandalf said, shaking from his reverie, "Carry on, carry on, we shall meet again."

And then he too disappeared, lost in the throng of people hurrying past, hauling the last of the tents and supplies. Boromir tugged Mel in the opposite direction, his expression calm, but otherwise unreadable. Somehow that still managed to make Mel uneasy. They entered the makeshift pen serving as the impromptu stable and took charge of their horses.

Mel tied her mare to a nearby post and started going over her tack, along with what remained of her supplies, but she didn't get very far. The moment Boromir had secured his gelding, he took Mel's arm and pulled her in, as if grasping for something to tether him to the earth. He was shaking. Not trembling, but really shaking, as if he might come apart at the seams any moment, and that scared her more than anything that had happened to them so far. She didn't speak, just held on to him for what felt like a long time, listening to his heart pounding in his chest and waiting for the erratic stuttering of his breaths even out. When the last of the tremors finally ceased, he stepped back so he could look into her eyes, still gripping her arms as if to anchor himself, just in case.

"Forgive me," he said, "Please, I… I don't…"

"It's okay," Mel said, cupping his elbows in what she hoped was a supportive gesture, "I know. It's okay."

Boromir closed his eyes and his head dropped to rest against hers. A long sigh escaped him as his grip on her arms relaxed, less of an anchor than a comfort now.

"I did not realize what a burden it was," he said, "Until the burden was lifted. To be _seen_ , and then reminded there are those that should not see..."

"I know," Mel said again, "It's gonna be hard, but we'll get through this. We've been through so much, I _know_ we can get through this. And we have help now. It's going to be okay."

"I know," he said, "Only I… I watched you and it was… so _easy_ for you, to slip back into what once was, and it was… humbling. You have done this _before_ , lived with your mind in two different worlds, and I thought I knew that, thought I understood it, but... Melody, I never truly realized until today what you must have gone through, all this time, even before. My love, can you ever forgive me for such blatant ignorance?"

"Forgive you?" Mel asked, "Are you kidding me? Boromir, I am nothing but grateful for what I've been through, every moment of it, because it led me to you. And now I can help you and we can get through this together. So no, I won't forgive you, because there is nothing to forgive."

Boromir stared at her for a long moment. And then he kissed her, closing the distance between them so quickly that Mel barely had time to realize it was happening. It was short, but more than enough to take Mel's breath away and make her wonder if she was keeping herself upright or if Boromir was holding her up.

"I do not deserve you," he whispered, "In no life, past or present, have I done anything remotely worthy of you."

Mel grinned.

"Yeah, but you're still stuck with me," she said, "Better get used to it."

"Never," he said, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

He pressed another kiss to her lips before they broke apart, each turning to their own horse, but Mel still felt like she was floating, her mind somewhere in the middle distance instead of firmly behind her eyes. She ended up checking her tack three times before she was certain she had gotten everything, and Boromir was waiting on her, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Are you distracted, my love?" he asked innocently.

Mel managed a fairly decent glare despite the heat rising to her cheeks.

"Shut up."

He barked a laugh and Mel's glare broke down into a frustrated grin and rolled eyes.

As they led their horses from the pen, they passed Legolas and Gimli on their way inside.

"So anxious to be on our way, lad?" Gimli asked jovially.

"I admit, Master Dwarf, I will be much more at ease with the shadow of these mountains at our backs," Boromir answered.

Gimli nodded, his expression turned moderately graver.

"Aye, that I can understand," he said, his eyes flicking momentarily behind them, where Mel knew the broken remains of the Moria gates stood, "Still, our coming to this place was not all bad. For I was able to look upon the face of the most beautiful creature I ever beheld, one last time."

Mel turned to follow his shining gaze and smiled. Lord Elrond stood with Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel against the backdrop of Moria, their hands clasped together. Though far in the distance, the elven rulers of Lothlorien appeared almost ethereal, tall and pale, their long blonde hair and flowing robes of white and gray catching the morning light so that they seemed to glow.

"And so Lord Elrond takes his leave of the Lord and Lady of the Goldenwood," Gandalf said, leaning on his staff and gazing at the group on the rocks with sad eyes, "It's a shame, really. Loneliness is like a disease on elvendom, one that they so often bring upon themselves."

Mel almost didn't catch the look that Gandalf threw at Legolas, a pointed glance that even Legolas himself did not see. But… Legolas wasn't lonely. He had Gimli. It wasn't until Gandalf caught her own eye that Mel understood. It was her. The wizard remembered, remembered the friendship she and Legolas had once shared. And even though her heart didn't want to believe it, had been denying it ever since he had saved her on the plains of Rohan, deep down Mel knew they would never share that bond again. She wondered if that was why they had been thrown together in the first place, so she would _know_ , without a shadow of a doubt, that she had lost her friend, her _orenyanil_ for good.

The elves on the rocks parted company, and Mel and Boromir mounted with the rest of the company headed west, away from the mountains, bound for the Last Homely House. But before they left, Mel couldn't resist one final glance back. Even from this distance, she could see a shining figure atop a white horse, paused on the last rocky outcropping. Mel could almost sense that the Lady Galadriel's eyes were upon her, and something soft and warm brushed against her mind.

" _The peace of the stars and the strength of the elves be with you, Lindel i taurëo…"_

Mel smiled.

" _And with you, Lady of the Golden Wood…"_

She felt another brush of warmth against her thoughts, and then it was gone. The figure in white disappeared over the rock formation, and Mel turned to catch up to her companions.

* * *

 **Elvish Translations**

 _(all translations are Sindarin unless otherwise noted)_

Melda tárinya (q): My beloved queen

Veruya (q): husband (an endearment)

Orenyanil (q): a word of my own creation meaning a platonic soul mate, literally "my heart (inner mind) friend"

Lindel i taurëo (q): Song of the Forest


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** There's a little bit of Sindarin in the beginning of this chapter. As always, translations are in a note at the bottom of the chapter :) Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

Travel was slow due to the large procession and no one really seemed to be in any particular hurry, so it took another full week to reach Rivendell. Lord Elrond saw to Mel's wound in the meantime (to Mel's surprise as much as anyone else's), and by the time they had reached the edge of the valley, it was nearly healed. The angry bitterness that had tainted the forest dissipated also, until Mel could almost recognize the cheerful murmur in her mind. It felt a little like coming home. The mood of Lord Elrond's party echoed that of the trees the closer they drew to the Last Homely House, often breaking into silly choruses of 'tra-la-la's that were on the verge of driving Gimli completely bonkers by the last day of their journey.

"What reason could anyone, above or below the earth, have for singing such ridiculous nonsense?" he growled from the back of Legolas' horse for probably the hundredth time.

"They are only glad of their safe return home, Gimli," Legolas said with patient fondness, "Do you mean to say that were we returning to the Lonely Mountain your heart would not sing the songs of your people in celebration?"

"Of course I would!" Gimli huffed in exasperation, "But at least dwarf songs make sense! We have stories, history, glorious tradition in our songs! None of this trilling incomprehensible gibberish."

As if on cue, Elladan and Elrohir broke into a rousing rendition of 'tra-lala-la-la' and Gimli threw up his hands with a shout of frustration. The twins burst into gales of laughter and Gimli brandished his axe in their general direction, shouting insults and demanding satisfaction for the damage to his general well-being, which only made them laugh harder as their horses skipped well out of the way of his angry swings. Mel could see Legolas' shoulders shaking, just infinitesimally, and his jaw was held tight as if trying to mask a grin. But Gimli must have felt his friend trembling, because he turned a heated glare on him and then thumped him soundly on the back of the head with his axe handle.

"Nîdh!" Legolas exclaimed, cringing and cradling his head in his hand, " _Rhaich_ , Gimli, was that necessary?"

"Someone needs to beat some sense into your fool head," Gimli grumbled, looking smug, "And I just happened to be available."

Mel had a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the giggles that were threatening to bubble up from her chest. Legolas turned a mischievous blue-eyed smirk on her, still rubbing the sore spot on the back of his skull.

"I suppose you think this is terribly funny, mellon-nîn?"

The laughter evaporated in a blink. Legolas stared at her, all traces of mirth gone from his face, his hand seemingly forgotten where it sat on his injured head. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung slightly open, as if he couldn't quite believe that his own words had betrayed him in such a way. Mel could only stare back. She knew she should say something, relieve the tension she could feel building, resolve the slip somehow, but… it had sounded… for a moment he had been…

"Of course it is funny!" Gimli exclaimed, completely oblivious, "What is _not_ funny is that blasted song still being sung over and over all around us! Honestly, how do your people find this sort of nonsense amusing? The tune isn't even that catchy!"

Legolas dropped his hand and turned away from Mel, his shoulders rigid and his face an impassive mask. Mel let him pull ahead of her, holding back her horse and letting herself breathe. It wasn't him. It had never been. _Her_ Legolas was gone, lost forever. He wasn't coming back. She just needed to breathe and remind herself…

Boromir, his brow furrowed, dropped back to ride at her side.

"Is everything well?" he asked, his voice calm and neutral.

Mel swallowed and forced a smile.

"Yes," she lied, "I'm fine."

Boromir nodded, but he didn't believe her. Mel could see it in his eyes, eyes that flicked to the back of Legolas' head for just a brief moment before returning to her filled with sympathy and regret. But he said nothing. There was nothing to say. Any attempt at friendship with the elf only seemed to disturb him, and Mel simply had to accept it. At least Gimli did not appear to have any qualms about her. He was always simply himself and Mel found a small comfort in that. But Legolas… Legolas was gone. And he wasn't coming back, no matter how much Mel's heart ached for it.

When they finally crossed the narrow stone bridge and entered Imladris the sun had long passed below the lip of the mountains, leaving only a dim glow in its wake, obscuring all but the brightest stars in the evening sky. Mel took a deep breath of the clean, cool air, and sent her presence out into the house, blanketing the trees and bushes inside with a gentle greeting that echoed back to her from every corner and hidden crevice. She smiled. It really did feel like coming home.

Their horses were led away and, after a brief scuffle tempered with a little bit of patience, Boromir and Mel were finally shown to a room which had been hastily prepared for them. Mel threw her bags into a corner and unceremoniously flopped face first into the white, fluffiness of the bed.

"I'm never moving again," she declared, her words muffled in the thick comforter.

Boromir chuckled and she heard his own bag hit the floor somewhere in the room, followed by the sound of his boots as he approached. The bed sank beneath his weight and he leaned over to press a kiss to the back of her head.

"Well that would be a shame," he murmured in her ear, "I had several plans for us this evening that require at least a _bit_ of movement."

Well. When he put it like that…

Mel turned over and Boromir kissed her properly. The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur.

* * *

"So, what's the plan, lass?" Gimli asked around a mouthful of porridge the next morning.

"I'd like to spend today speaking to a few of the trees of the house, see if they know anything that might help us," Mel answered, swirling her spoon in her own bowl and not looking up.

The truth was she desperately wanted to see Rod and Birch. They wouldn't remember her, of course, but she remembered them and she wanted to see them. She tried to tell herself it was because Rod was an intelligent plant and he might know some old stories from his years in the library, but she knew she was kidding herself. This was a purely selfish endeavor, but catching another glimpse of Legolas' completely impassive expression across the table made her bitterly insist that she deserved it. Her spoon stabbed at her porridge and she forced a breath through her nose before she spoke again.

"Tomorrow I think I'll take a ride into the surrounding forest. Esgalion…?"

"I'll see to it that the horses are prepared," Boromir interjected smoothly, as if he had been waiting for a cue, "We'll take the day."

"Should we go with you?" Legolas asked.

Mel stared at him for a minute. He was looking her right in the eye, not flinching away, but still deliberately expressionless. Mel dropped her eyes and shrugged.

"If you wish. I'm sure the woods surrounding Imladris are safe, but it might be good to have others along, just in case."

Boromir glanced at her, but said nothing. Mel sighed and briefly wished that she hadn't agreed quite so quickly. She had thought they might try to find the spot where she had first come through to this world, the place where she had first met Boromir and come to the shocking realization that she was basically Middle Earth's own version of Dorothy and she definitely wasn't in Kansas anymore. But now, even if they found it, they wouldn't be able to talk about it, not with Legolas and Gimli there. On the other hand, Legolas and Gimli had offered their help. Mel thought they should probably take advantage of it. They would just have to manage.

When they went their separate ways, Boromir offered to stay with Mel, but she declined him.

"I'd really like to be on my own for a little while," she said, taking his hand and squeezing reassuringly, "There's someone I want to see."

Boromir didn't question her, only kissed her gently and then left her to herself. Mel could not resist watching him walk away, smiling to herself a bit as his fingers brushed the stone of the wall absently before he turned a corner and disappeared.

When he was out of sight, she turned her thoughts fully to the twisting corridors of Rivendell. When she had last been here she'd been lost more often than not, and the time that she had been away had not been kind to her memory. It took several wrong turns and most of the morning for her to find a hallway that seemed even vaguely familiar. By noon she was in a corridor that looked like either way might be correct, standing with hands on hips, contemplating. And that's when she heard it, that playful child's voice.

" _Caleeeeeenhiriiiiiil…"_

A relieved smile brushed her lips and she turned left, following the childish taunts straight to the familiar library doors. She ran a finger absently along one the dusty bookshelves as she ambled up the shadowed aisle, reading the titles of familiar books that she had read aloud, the words echoing against the stones of another lifetime. And in the back corner, just as she remembered, was a small table with a vibrant rhododendron plant, the branches of a slender birch sapling fluttering just outside his window.

" _Hello, Rod."_

The bush rustled, his pink flowers shuddering against dark waxy leaves.

" _Calenhiril,"_ he said, sounding both awed and surprised, _"What an honor that you should come to us."_

" _I found her!"_ Birch's childish voice rang out proudly, _"She was lost and I found her, Rod!"_

" _You should not have bothered the Calenhiril, child,"_ Rod said, sounding flustered, _"I am sure she has important business…"_

" _Business I think you might help me with,"_ Mel interrupted fondly.

The waxy leaves shivered again, and Mel could almost _feel_ Rod drawing himself up importantly.

" _Of course, Calenhiril! Anything I can do to assist, of course…"_

Mel smiled and shuffled the furniture a bit, tucking a familiar straight-backed chair into the corner closest to the window where she could see Birch's branches dancing and skittering along the stone of the windowsill.

" _What can you tell me about the Entwives?"_

* * *

Though Rod had little new information to give her, he told her the old stories with such enthusiasm and conviction that Mel could not help but listen intently to his every word. He spoke of the settling of the Anduin and the burning of the fields, and his own fiercely held belief that at least some of the Entwives had escaped and fled, though he knew not where.

" _Many of the Elves do not hold to hope,"_ Rod said, sadly, _"The shepherds' wives are passing out of knowledge and memory. Soon there will be nothing left."_

Mel nodded and ran her fingers through his leaves, inciting a shudder.

" _I know,"_ she said, _"I know. But I'm here to help. I'm here to find them."_

She stayed for a while longer, playing word games with Birch (which she had to teach her all over again), but as evening approached her growling stomach forced her to admit that she had stayed as long as she could.

" _I'll try to come back,"_ she said, _"I don't know how long we're staying, but I'll try to come back."_

" _Calenhiril?"_ Rod asked, tentatively, _"You seem so familiar with us. Have we met before?"_

Mel felt a sad smile tug at her lips.

" _In another lifetime, Rod."_

* * *

The next morning the group got an early start, packing for a picnic lunch, before setting out on horseback into the forest. Mel led the way with Boromir at her side, Legolas and Gimli following close behind. Once they were beyond the bridge and well into the woods, Mel stopped and sent her presence into the trees, which was received with general feelings of goodwill and pleasantness. Mel held up the hand on which she wore the Yavannacor and closed her eyes.

" _Please,"_ she said, _"I come on a mission from our Mother. What can you tell me of the Entwives?"_

The trees rustled, a ripple that centered around her and went out in waves over the forest. She could hear Gimli make some sort of nervous comment behind her, but she kept her eyes closed and her mind open. The ripple came back, like a wave returning to shore, an echo of many voices.

" _We have not seen the Entwives for many ages."_

Mel jerked and opened her eyes, excitement leaping inside her.

" _But you have seen them! Where? When? Which way did they go?"_

The ripple that went out from her was more powerful this time, like a storm blowing through the branches making them creak and shudder.

" _Before the Elven House. Before the Little Ones traveled to their green Land. They came as survivors, but not all survived. None who now live have seen them, but there is one who passes on their memory."_

Mel took up her reins.

" _Take me there,"_ she said, _"Show me the way."_

The trees rustled, but not in a ripple, in a single direction, as if a strong wind blew that way, though there was no wind.

" _This way, Calenhiril,"_ the trees whispered, echoes and murmurs and mutters, _"This way…"_

"Come on," she said and kicked her horse into a trot, plunging forward into the swaying trees.

Gimli shouted something about the wisdom of leaving the path, but Boromir followed without question and Legolas went with him, so Gimli had no choice. Mel followed the trees, the wave of the branches and the voices urging her on.

" _Come, Calenhiril, come…"_

" _This way, no this way…"_

" _Not far now, Calenhiril, not far at all…"_

" _Just ahead…"_

The horses shied from the trees as they moved in the breezeless morning, but Mel managed to keep them going in the right direction until they finally emerged into a clearing so bright with sunlight that she was nearly blinded. She pulled up short and blinked. The light was reflected against a shallow pool of water, fed by a tiny stream that trickled lazily through the clearing. On the banks of this tiny pool was a twisted, old, oak tree, far wider than it was tall, stooped over the water, leaves trailing in the slowly swirling eddies.

Mel dismounted and patted the neck of her horse, her eyes never leaving the twisted oak. There was no voice from him, but the forest around him whispered and chattered, assuring her that she was in the right place. Mel wondered if he was… but she shook the thought away.

Boromir appeared at her side, a hand resting on the neck of her horse.

"Do you need us?" he asked softly.

Mel shook her head and handed him her reins. He took them without a word.

"Wait here."

She circled around the little pool of water, crossing the stream in one long leap as it slipped away into the thick of the woods. Then she circled back, approaching the oak with caution. He never spoke, never gave any indication that he even knew she was there. Mel ducked beneath his spreading branches and approached his wide trunk, gnarled and covered with knots. Slowly, carefully, Mel ran her fingertips against the rough bark, circling a few of the knots and reaching out softly for anything that might indicate…

Something stirred. She could feel it in her mind, a large, brooding presence, and she pulled back respectfully as he roused himself.

" _Harum-hoom, who wakes me from my peaceful slumber?"_

He sounded so much like an Ent that Mel smiled. She pressed her hand flat to the trunk of the tree.

" _My name is Calenhiril,"_ She said, _"I was told you might help me."_

The tree's presence unfurled and spread, like an old cat stretching in the sun. Mel closed her eyes and she could imagine the life of the tree spreading out to the ends of ever twig and leaf, held in awe by the power held within this one creature.

" _Calenhiril…"_ he murmured, almost to himself, _"Hum-ha-room, so you have come at last. My grandfather said someday you would."_

" _What may I call you?"_ she asked.

" _I am called Old Father Oak,"_ he said, his voice gruff, but gentle.

" _You are too young to be called Old Father,"_ she said smiling, _"I have met many in my time here that out-age you by centuries surely."_

" _You have met with our shepherds then,"_ he said, a smile clear in his voice, _"Only they would be so old as that."_

" _Yes,"_ Mel said, _"I understand you might be able to tell me what became of their wives. They long for them more than ever and our Mother sends me to search them out, and bring them home if I can."_

" _Whether that is to be or not is beyond my knowledge,"_ Father Oak said, _"They came to us when my old grandfather was only a sapling, sheltered in the shadow of his father's branches. They were few, their skin blackened, and they wailed for those they had lost and those they were yet to lose. Their long golden hair had been shorn and they wept for the land they had left behind."_

Mel shuddered as an image passed through her mind. It was dim and blurred, an image passed from tree to tree, but the sentiment behind it was clear: fear, pain, anguish, sorrow…

" _Please, Father Oak,"_ she said, _"Where did they go? The Enemy they once feared has been defeated, his power destroyed, never to return. I have been sent to bring the Entwives back to the light."_

" _Some never passed on from this place,"_ Father Oak said, _"They fell and did not move again, their bodies taken back to the earth. Only a very few ever made it beyond the edge of the valley."_

" _Do you know the direction they went?"_ Mel asked, _"Toward the sun's rising?"_

" _No, no always away, away from the sun, toward the darkness, where the sun sleeps. They went to find rest. I don't know if they ever did. They passed from the Valley and that is the last we knew of them._

So they were heading west. Toward the Shire? The Old Forest was said to contain many strange things. But the image that had been passed to Mel's mind played on a loop over and over. So much pain, so much suffering, so much injury… Had _any_ of them survived? Would they survive much longer? Was she too late, had she waited too long? And would any of them be in any state to make the journey home again? Would she discover the Entwives only to have to leave them again, still in shadow and loneliness?

She shook her head and returned her thoughts to the tree beneath her palm.

" _I thank you for your wisdom, Father Oak,"_ she said, " _Is there anything I can do for you, anything you require? I will give what I can."_

" _No, child,"_ he rumbled, " _I am an old oak and I have lived more in this lifetime than any of my fathers. To have seen this day is enough."_

Mel smiled and patted the trunk of the old tree fondly.

" _Well and good,"_ she whispered, _"Back to sleep, my friend."_

She felt him curl back up, sighing contentedly, and then he was gone, sleeping once more, his leaves drifting lazily in the pool of water at his roots. Mel turned, ducking beneath the branches, and then blinked in the blinding sunlight. She hadn't realized how dense the limbs and leaves of the old oak had been.

Her companions had been busy, setting out their lunch on an old blanket by the banks of the pool. She picked her way carefully across the stream and curled up on the blanket, pulling an apple out of her pack and munching thoughtfully.

"Well?" Gimli asked, of course too impatient to wait for her to gather her thoughts, "Anything?"

She nodded and swallowed her bite of apple.

"Only a third hand account passed through generations, but it seems the Entwives did come this way. They were in bad shape though, only a few ever made it out of the valley."

"Why would they leave?" Legolas asked, "These woods have always been safe, protected by the mountains."

Mel shrugged.

"Maybe they feared discovery by the Elves."

"Why would they fear that?" Legolas asked, "The Eldar have only ever wished to help the creatures of Arda."

"Really?" Mel asked, raising an eyebrow, "I may not know all my ancient history, but it seems to me that Elves have done their fair share of damage. Kinslaying, sacking of cities, burning and pillaging, it's all there."

Legolas opened his mouth as if to protest, but then seemed to think better of it and shut it again, staring at the ground and picking at a blade of grass absently.

"We would not have hurt the Entwives," he muttered stubbornly.

"I'm sure you wouldn't have," Mel said, in what she hoped was a soothing tone, "But they might not have been as sure as you. Honestly, when you've been betrayed like that, it's hard to trust anyone."

Legolas nodded, but he didn't look up.

"Where did they go?" Boromir asked, "The survivors?"

"Toward the sleeping sun," Mel said, rolling her half-eaten apple in her hand absently, "To find rest."

"What in Durin's name does _that_ mean?" Gimli exclaimed, "Can no one on any of these blasted quests speak plainly?"

"West, Gimli," Mel said, holding back a snort of laughter, "They went west. That's all he knows."

"So we were correct in assuming that the Old Forest might be a good place to begin," Boromir said, his eyes brightening a little.

Mel smiled.

"It seems that way. If any are left, of course. And if not, well… maybe someone will know something at least."

She dropped her eyes and took another bite of her apple. She desperately hoped there would be _something_ out there, not just echoes of a pain long past and empty stories.

They finished their lunch in silence and packed up the horses again. Mel reached out and touched one of the hanging branches of the old oak in farewell. There was no answer, but that was alright. Father Oak had done his duty, he had earned his rest. Mel and her party of questers mounted up and headed out of the clearing, allowing the trees to guide them back to the path.

But just as they emerged onto the familiar track, Boromir reined in his horse and called out.

"Lindel!"

Mel stopped and looked back. Boromir was staring at a spot farther down the path, away from Imladris. He looked back at her and jerked his head in that direction.

"It's here."

Legolas and Gimli gave both Mel and Boromir a pair of strange, curious looks, but Mel felt a lump forming in her throat that she couldn't swallow past. Because she knew what Boromir meant. This was the place. This was where he had first found her. She dismounted her horse and ran down the pathway to see, turning a corner and…

Somehow it seemed so familiar, and yet so distant. She stood, frozen on the pathway, and just stared for several seconds. It was as if she could see it, all of it, happening in front of her. She could see herself, jeans and red sweater, lost, scared, freaking out. She could see Boromir, tired, dirty, impatient, rightfully suspicious. It all played out in her mind like a movie, scene by scene, right here where she was standing.

She put her hand on one of the trees to steady herself and there was a whisper in her mind, but something… something was off. Her brow furrowed and she sent out her presence into the surrounding forest. She felt it again. There was a... a dead spot. Just off the path, no life, no sound, just an empty spot in the middle of the forest, nearly indiscernible and yet so completely out of place.

She moved forward, curiosity drawing her on, and she heard Boromir following after her, Gimli calling out as well, but she just kept moving. It wasn't far, so close, in fact, to the place where she had first realized that something was wrong the first time, that she was somehow not where she had been before. There was a piece of dead wood sticking up out of the ground, twisted and gnarled. It wasn't a tree, or at least it was like no tree Mel had ever seen. There was no indication that there had ever been branches or leaves, and nothing grew on it. No lichen, no moss, no grass grew within the immediate circle of it. Mel felt revulsion even approaching it and she stopped, staring. The wood twisted and turned, bent and spiraled, two long parts wrapped around the middle, the top bent down to touch the earth. What in the world was it? The wood was streaked with black and pocked in several places, not by rot it didn't seem, but as if something had bitten into the wood. Mel steeled herself and reached out her hand. After all, it was dead. It couldn't hurt…

Her skin touched the bark and she screamed, jerking back and stumbling over a dead branch. She hit the ground and scrambled desperately, trying to put distance between herself and that thing, that _horrible_ thing. Boromir materialized at her side and she clung to him, shaking hard enough to rattle her teeth.

"What is it? Lindel, what's wrong?"

"It's… it's…" She stuttered trying make what she was feeling form into comprehensible words, "It's dead… Oh… oh god, she's…"

"She…?"

Mel knew the exact moment Boromir saw it. His face went slack and then hardened, pulling her into the cradle of his arms. Mel buried her face in his shoulder and took deep breaths, barely holding back the urge to throw up.

"Is everything alright? What happened?"

Legolas' voice was hard, but concerned, only Mel couldn't bring herself to look at him, not now, not when it wasn't _her_ Legolas. She couldn't…

"I think," Boromir said, slowly, "That we have found one of the lost Entwives."

There was no response, only eerie silence. Mel shuddered and Boromir's grip on her tightened.

"That can not be…" Legolas whispered.

Mel heard him moving through the underbrush. She turned her head just enough to watch his back as he carefully approached the twisted hunk of wood. Slowly, he reached out as if to brush his fingertips…

"Don't," Mel said and he jerked his hand away, looking back at her with wide, worried eyes, "Just… please don't. Don't touch her."

Legolas paused, and then dropped his hand, taking a step back, away from the… oh god… the corpse of what had once been an Entwife.

"How do you know?" Gimli asked, standing behind Boromir, leaning on his axe, "Just looks like another dead tree to me."

"I…" Mel shuddered again, "I _felt_ her."

"You what?" Boromir asked.

"I thought she was dead?" Gimli said, suddenly upright and more alert.

"She is," Mel said, looking down at her hand with disgust, "Has been. For a long, _long_ time. This is what's left of her. It was… It was like an echo. The last things she felt, a residue of her."

"If she's been dead so long, why is she still here?" Gimli said, "Don't things in the forest usually rot?"

Mel gagged and crawled away from Boromir so she wouldn't throw up on him. She sat on her hands and knees for a moment until the feeling passed, shivering.

"Gimli, you are my friend, but sometimes I just do not understand you at all," Legolas said, an undeniable edge of disgust tinging his usual fond exasperation.

Mel just concentrated on taking deep breaths through her nose until finally she felt well enough to sit back, curling up against the trunk of the closest living tree whispering in soothing hushes against her mind.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Gimli toeing at the ground sheepishly nearby.

"Sorry, lass," he muttered, "That wasn't quite gentlemanly of me."

Mel pressed her cheek against the tree trunk and managed a watery smile for the dwarf.

"It's okay," she whispered, "I'll be alright."

"Let's get away from this place," Boromir said, "I do not like the feel of it."

Mel nodded and allowed Boromir to help her to her feet. She was a little wobbly, but she made it to the horses. Legolas immediately dug into his saddle bag, until he emerged with a sprig of leaves.

"Here," he said gently, handing them to Mel, "Chew this. It will help."

Mel eyed the leaves, but folded up a few and put them in her mouth, biting down. It was mint. She smiled as she chewed.

"Thank you."

Legolas returned her smile, albeit tentatively, and then mounted up, pulling Gimli up behind him. Boromir brought Mel her horse, but for a moment she only stared out in the direction of the… the place, the spot that had brought her into this world and that now held such a nasty pallor in her mind.

"Well," she muttered, "At least now we know why this place."

Boromir followed her gaze and nodded.

"Everything for a reason, I suppose. But this…" He shook his head, "I am only glad you were not forced to face that alone."

Mel looked up at him and then took his hand.

"Thank you."

He squeezed her hand in return. Then he helped her onto her horse and the party headed back to Rivendell.

* * *

 **Elvish Translations**  
 _(all translations are Sindarin unless otherwise noted)_

Nîdh!- Ouch!

Rhaich- Curses (equivalent to 'damn')

Mellon-nîn- my friend


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** There's a little bit of Sindarin in this chapter, translations are in a note at the end (along with a bit of clarification about the last scene). Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

Now that they knew for certain where they were heading, Mel thought they would be on their way. But, as so often seemed to happen, that wasn't how things worked out. It took time to gather supplies, and even though her wound was healing well under the care of Lord Elrond and his staff, Boromir and Legolas were both uneasy about hitting the road until she was fully recovered. Mel might have protested and gotten them moving a bit sooner were it not for Gandalf overhearing their plans to ride for the Old Forest.

"I am going that way myself with the hobbits," he said, smiling kindly down at the companions, "We will part company at Bree, and afterward I will be making a trek to the Old Forest to… see an old friend. If you could wait just two weeks we might travel together."

Mel bit her lip and considered the wizard. Would it be safe? They had only seen the hobbits from a distance in the halls of Imladris, would traveling with them cause undue hardship? Her eyes flicked to Boromir, barely more than a second's glance, but Gandalf noticed. His smiled warmed.

"I assure you, Lindel, I would not offer if I did not think it might be of service," he said, "I believe my… friend might prove of some use to you. At any rate, I have no doubt you will wish to meet him."

"And anyone who is a friend to wizards is one whom we would like to meet, I'm sure," Boromir said, with only a tinge of irony.

"It would give your wound sufficient time to heal," Legolas said, with just the barest hint of hopefulness.

"And traveling with a wizard is hardly a _bad_ thing, lass," Gimli said finally, the only one of their company that had been content not to take part in the argument until now.

Mel found that she no longer had anything even resembling an excuse to stand on. She sighed and rubbed her eyes.

"Alright, fine," she grumbled, "But two weeks, no more! I don't know if Entwives sleep as the trees do, but I really didn't plan on spending an entire winter here."

With that decided, Mel really had very little else to do. Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli took care of most of the preparations, since they were far more experienced in this stuff, which left Mel with a lot of extra time on her hands. She visited Rod and Birch quite a bit, and soon her friendship with them felt as strong as it had ever been. She spent the rest of her time wandering the old halls she'd been too nervous to explore on her first trip through Rivendell, poking her nose into more nooks and crannies than she would ever have dared before. She found both new places and new routes to familiar haunts, which both surprised and delighted her.

That was how she ended up on the familiar practice field, on a day that seemed made to taunt her with old memories. The breeze was warm, the sun shining, the air filled with the smell of deep summer and the sounds of metal on metal and elvish jeers. She found she could not help herself, drawn forward on creeping tiptoe, hiding in the shadow of a tree just as she remembered doing months before in another life. Elladan and Elrohir parried and swept around each other in a familiar dance that Mel found she could still follow, even managing to name most of the steps. Here was a skittering slip, there a pointed jab. Finally, Elladan made a feint that fooled even his twin and as Elrohir lunged, Elladan skipped out of the way and tripped his brother, sending him sprawling on his face. Elladan laughed and Mel covered her mouth to suppress a snort of her own laughter. She must not have done a very good job. The twins both looked toward her and Mel cringed back a little bit before she caught herself, fighting a strong sense of deja vu.

"The lady laughs at my misfortune," Elrohir said, teasing in his voice, "Elladan, you wound not only my body, but my pride!"

"Perhaps the lady was simply waiting for a chance to try her hand against the winner?" Elladan said, sweeping Mel a deep bow, "I am, of course, at her disposal."

Mel hesitated, thinking of her nearly healed wound. But she just couldn't resist the temptation. She had lost more than her fair share of dignity to the sons of Elrond over the many weeks she'd trained here. She had to at least _try_ to get some of it back.

"I would never dream of taking up my lords' valuable time," she said demurely, stepping out of the trees in a feigned posture of shyness.

"My lady, our time is no more valuable than your own," Elladan insisted, nudging Elrohir with the toe of his boot, "Brother, be a gentleman and lend the lady your sword."

Elrohir obediently swept to his feet and held the pommel of his sword out to Mel. She took it and made an intentionally awkward practice swing. She saw the barest hint of a smirk on Elladan's face and it took everything within her to keep a straight face. He crouched into a starting position and Mel copied him, waiting. Elladan, true to his confident nature, attacked first, an easy swing in Mel's direction that she blocked easily, tossing his sword back and settling back into her crouch, still waiting. Elladan took a step back and studied her more carefully.

"Ah, it seems you know a _little_ something, my lady," he said, an appreciative smirk curling his lips and his eyes dancing.

Mel let her lips curve and she settled more deeply into the familiar pose.

"A little."

They moved, circling one another in the green grass. Mel could sense, more than see, Elrohir watching them from the shade of the tree line, but she tried not to let that distract her. Elladan was confident but he wasn't stupid. She couldn't afford to let her attention waver.

Elladan swung again, a bit more precisely now, but still easy enough for Mel to block, and this time she returned the strike, pushing back with a thrust and a swing before retreating again. Elladan's eyes widened a little.

" _Quite_ a little something then," he said, his brow furrowing, "Let's see what else you have…"

And then he was attacking in earnest and Mel narrowed her focus, watching her feet as Boromir had taught her, watching for openings as Orodion had warned her, the familiar feel of the elvish blade almost an extension of her arm. What Elladan still didn't know, _couldn't_ know, was that she had seen all his tricks before, had been taught them at one time, and as she sparred with him it all came back to her. She spun and kicked out a leg, forcing the elf to skip back and throw off his balance. She swung in, the scrape and ping of the swords like a song in her ears, an old melody that she hadn't heard in a long time. They circled and swung and ducked and parried until finally, _finally_ , Mel saw what she'd been waiting for. She let Elladan lunge, but instead of stepping back, she moved inside, turning his sword away and spinning until her back was pressed against the inside of his sword arm and her blade was pressed against his tunic. She took a moment to breathe and tossed a sweaty strand of hair from her eyes.

"You have to forfeit," she said, smirking ever so slightly.

The elf's eyes were wide as he looked down at her.

"For… forfeit. I forfeit."

Mel lowered her sword and stepped away. There was dead silence in the clearing and Mel looked to see if maybe Elrohir had left while they were sparring. He had not. He was leaning against a tree, arms crossed in a gesture of relaxed composure, but his eyes as wide as his brother's, just staring at her.

"That was my move," Elrohir said finally, pushing himself off the tree and striding forward purposefully, "What you did there… How did you know to do that?"

Mel took a few steps back, distancing herself from both twins, suddenly nauseous. She had gone too far. She should never have done this.

"I just… I just did," she stammered, desperately, "Instinct, I guess. This isn't my first sword fight."

" _Clearly,_ " they said together, in a deadpan voice that would have been funny if they weren't both staring at her with blank, incredulous faces.

There was another awkward pause. Mel rolled her shoulders, felt her wound tug against her skin, and winced.

"Are you hurt?" Elladan asked, taking a step forward, but Mel shied away.

"No," she said, touching her collarbone self-consciously "No, it just feels a little weird when I move a certain way. I'm fine."

"Well good," Elladan said, with a determined set to his face, "Father would be furious if he knew I'd undone all his hard work."

"And Legolas and Gimli would have more than a thing or two to say if you damaged their friend, I think," Elrohir agreed.

Mel balked a little.

"Well, I… I don't know if I would say 'friend', exactly…" she said, very aware of Legolas' aversion to the term, "We're more like, partners, they're helping me."

"On a search for the long-lost entwives," Elladan said, swinging his sword casually at his side, "Many would call it a fool's errand."

Mel stiffened, a swell of indignation overshadowing her nerves.

"Still I must try, my lord," she said, "Someone must."

Elladan paused, and then inclined his head.

"Forgive me, Lady Lindel, I meant no disrespect."

"And yet still you have given it, brother," Elrohir said, rolling his eyes, "I sometimes wonder if it would not have been better had you been born a mute."

"What a coincidence, I often wonder the same thing about you, brother."

The twins glared at each other for a solid ten seconds before it was broken by a mutual grin.

"Gin ú-heron."

"In ú-draston."

Elladan knocked his brother's shoulder good-naturedly with his fist.

"It's a good thing I know you don't mean that."

Elrohir rolled his eyes again, but he was smiling.

"Well, you know it is just us now, so I suppose…"

Both twins went suddenly still, their smiles faded, staring into some indeterminate space in the distance. Mel dug at the grass awkwardly with the tip of her sword.

"I… It must be hard, being away from your sister," she said finally.

Both elves blinked and stared at her as if they had forgotten for a moment that she was still there. Elladan was the first to smile, a broad grin that Mel suspected to be a cover for something else.

"She's a spoiled little brat, our sister," he said.

"We only ever wished her the best, of course," Elrohir interjected smoothly.

"Of course, and what did we ever get in return?"

"Grief."

" _Nothing_ , but grief."

"And now she's gone off and married a king-"

"-who was like a brother to us-"

"-and try telling me _that_ isn't awkward."

"It is."

"It definitely is."

They were rambling now, completely oblivious to the fact that they were finishing each other's sentences so smoothly it was almost as if one person were speaking from two different mouths.

"Estel is a wonderful man, of course…" Elrohir mused, charitably.

"As Men go."

"She never would have married him otherwise."

"We would have killed him first," Elladan said with a matter-of-fact nod that Elrohir mirrored.

"And that would pose a whole new set of problems-"

"-seeing as he's the last true heir to the throne of Gondor-"

"-not that we ever would try to assassinate the King of Gondor," Elrohir added quickly.

"But if we _did..._ " Elladan insisted.

"If there were ever a _reason…"_

"Hypothetically."

"Of course, _strictly_ hypothetically."

"But you know, that new Steward, what was his name?"

"Faramir," Elrohir provided helpfully.

"Yes, Faramir!" Elladan said cheerfully, "I liked him, and after all, the Stewards _did_ rule Gondor for hundreds of years with very few problems overall…"

" _Minor_ problems, really," Elrohir agreed, nodding sagely.

"So if anything _were_ to happen to the king-"

"- _hypothetically_ -"

"-for any reason, at least the kingdom would be in capable hands."

"Not that anything would ever happen to the king."

"Of course not. Because he treats Arwen like a queen-"

"As he should."

"-and he will continue to treat her as a queen-"

"Because she is."

"-so there is that."

The twins, immensely pleased with their own logic, looked at Mel as if waiting for confirmation that all of this was perfectly sound. All Mel could do was grin.

"You two make me miss my sisters, did I ever tell you that?"

The words slipped out almost on accident and the look of shock on her face must have been apparent, but she tried to cover it as quickly as possible.

"They're twins. My twin sisters. You sound just like them sometimes. You know, with the back and forth, twin-speak, reading thoughts, _things_ you do," she said, scrambling, "I haven't seen them in a long time and I just… I was watching you and I thought… I just thought you reminded me of them."

For a moment the twins stared at her and Mel got that sick feeling in her stomach again, that feeling that she had somehow gone too far, that she had said too much. Then the twins exchanged a long look that seemed to speak volumes without words.

"I have a proposal," Elrohir said finally, casually reaching out and slipping Elladan's sword from his hand and swiping it absently through the air.

"A rather hasty proposal if that look in your eye is any indication," Elladan said, crossing his arms, his own eyes twinkling, "How intriguing."

Elrohir did not deign to even glance in his brother's direction. His eyes were fixed on Mel, a small smile twitching at the corner of his thin lips.

"While no one can ever replace your sisters, my lady-"

"-just as no one can replace ours," Elladan interjected, his eyes bright and his posture much more alert now, apparently sensing the direction his brother was headed.

"But perhaps," Elrohir glanced at Elladan and waited for a confirming nod before he went on, "Perhaps we can be friends at least, and perhaps we might each find some comfort in that."

Mel had watched this whole exchange with her heart in her throat and now it felt like it might choke her. She blinked back tears and heard in her mind an echo of a life long past.

 _...since Mel's stay in our father's house, she has become quite dear to us..._

 _...while you are in need of guardians, we would be honored to fulfill that duty to you..._

She managed a watery smile, gripping the sword in her hand more firmly, as if it could hold back the tears that were threatening to betray her.

"I'd like that," she said.

"Good!" Elrohir said and then lunged, forcing Mel to fall back, laughing as she caught herself and fell into sparring like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

* * *

Though Mel had seen all four of the hobbits from a distance in Rivendell, she had never dared approach them. She sometimes caught Boromir staring at Pippin, elbowing him in the ribs gently before it could become rude or noticeable, but she understood the impulse. Pippin was… not the same hobbit they remembered. He was still getting taller, he and Merry both, each of them now as tall as Gimli. The Ent-draught had done its work well. They both looked older too, not desperately older, but harder, more prone to smiles than laughter (though they still laughed a lot). Mel missed them and she knew Boromir missed them too. He had loved all of the hobbits, but he had held Pippin especially close to his heart.

When Frodo was present though, Mel never caught him staring. He spent most of his time avoiding even the possibility of contact with a sort of desperation that was only in the set of his shoulders, the muscles of his jaw, in the way that he left meals half eaten when the hobbit would enter the hall.

"I cannot help this anguish in my heart," he had whispered one night, as they lay wrapped together in the dark, "I see his suffering and, to know that even some small part of it was _my_ doing… it pains me as nothing ever has."

"He forgives you."

"You cannot know that."

"I do," Mel insisted, "Even after everything, when your brother asked if he was your friend, do you know what he said? 'Yes, for my part.' He forgave you, Boromir. Probably before he had even left you, he forgave you."

Boromir had said nothing, only tucked her securely to his side, his cheek resting on her head. He needed more, but Mel couldn't give it to him, and she cursed the Valar in her mind for putting this before him, for forcing him to live this life with no way to reconcile it with the other. She knew in her heart that it was more than they could have hoped for, but at that moment it had felt more like a curse than a blessing.

So when, on one of her exploratory walks, Mel stumbled upon a secluded courtyard containing one small hobbit, she nearly turned and walked the other way. Frodo Baggins sat on a stone bench in the morning sun, puffing on a pipe, his eyes closed, looking something close to content.

Mel hovered in the archway indecisively and then realized it was silly to avoid him. They would be traveling together very soon now, only a few days away, and it made more sense that they 'get to know' one another now, right? Right.

Mel took a steadying breath and tried to sidle into the courtyard _not_ looking like she had been skulking in the shadows for a good thirty seconds beforehand. She slid onto the other end of the bench and sat quietly for a few minutes, as much to gather her courage as to look casual, before she dared to speak.

"Hello," she said softly.

Frodo opened his eyes and smiled politely. But this wasn't the smile of the young hobbit she had known so many months ago. This was the smile of a hobbit much grown and changed and battle weary.

"Hello," he answered.

"I'm sorry if I've interrupted you."

"No, not at all," he said, "I'm glad for the company, actually."

He leaned back and puffed on his pipe a few times, blowing a couple of perfectly formed smoke rings. Mel glanced around curiously.

"Where's Sam?"

Frodo tilted his head up at her, and then shook his head, smiling absently.

"Out in the gardens, I expect, or bothering Lindir for a recipe or two from the cooks. Sorry, but it still strikes me odd sometimes that perfect strangers should know our names."

"Everybody knows you, Frodo Baggins," Mel said, fondly, "The savior of Middle-Earth."

"I didn't do much saving," Frodo said, fidgeting absently with the bandages wrapping up his right hand, "And I'm… I'm tired of it, really."

Mel reached out and touched his arm.

"I know," she murmured, "It'll be over soon."

He looked back up, his smile tinged with irony.

"You sound so sure."

Mel shrugged, dropping her hand back to her lap.

"Well, you're going back to the Shire aren't you?" she said, "Back home. It'll be alright in the end. You'll see."

Frodo stared at her for a long moment, searching her face interestedly.

"You know," he said, finally, "This is going to sound awfully strange, but I feel as if we've met somewhere before. And yet... I don't even know your name."

Mel's heart jumped in her chest. He knew her. Maybe it was something to do with the Ring, like Galadriel, but some small part, some distant corner of his soul, _knew_ her! She swallowed.

"My name is…"

She hesitated. She'd almost said Lindel, but it didn't seem right. Not for Frodo. He'd endured more hardship than any creature ought to bear in a lifetime. She couldn't lie to him.

"My name is Mel."

Something sparked behind his eyes, but it quickly dimmed, replaced by a furrowed brow.

"Mel…" he said, testing the name on his tongue, "It's a bit of an odd name, isn't it?"

Mel tried to hide a little of her disappointment behind her smile. She shouldn't be disappointed anyway.

"I was named in a strange place far from here," she said, "Farther than even your dreams could take you."

Frodo rolled his eyes, puffing once on his pipe and blowing out the smoke in a huff.

"More riddles," he said, "It seems that my life is ever to be filled with riddles."

"Well, don't let this one trouble you too much," Mel said, standing to her feet, "That name is from an old life. Here I am called Lindel."

"Lindel?" This name seemed to spark a more permanent recognition, "You're the one who came with Legolas and Gimli, the friend Gandalf has talked about. Your husband is Esgalion, the one who looks like…"

He paused and swallowed. Mel took pity on him.

"Like Boromir of Gondor," she finished, "Yes, many have said so."

Frodo nodded, turning his head to study her.

"Lindel…" he said again, testing it like he had the other, "You know, I think Mel suits you better."

Mel's smiled widened.

"So do I, Frodo," she said, before offering him a nod of her head, "Good day to you."

She left the courtyard by the same way she had come. If she had gone through the courtyard and exited the other side instead, she might have seen the elf standing under the shadow of an archway. But then, she might not have, for he did not move, as frozen as the stone that shadowed him, almost daring not to breathe.

Mel.

Her name was Mel.

And Legolas heard the screaming of his dreams, the scream that was not a scream, a scream only in his mind, and the word that was not a word, not a word but a _name,_ a name that his mind had been screaming over and over in the night, a name that he couldn't remember, but now couldn't forget...

 _Mel!_

 _Mel!_

 _ **MEL!**_

* * *

 **Elvish Translations**  
 _(all translations are Sindarin unless otherwise noted)_

Gin ú-heron- I don't like you

In ú-draston- I don't care

 **An Extra Note Re: Legolas' confusion** \- I made reference earlier to Legolas hearing a word in his dreams, a word that elves would not shout in battle. 'Mel', in Sindarin, means 'love'. Legolas is confused that he keeps hearing this "word" in his nightmares, but really, he was hearing Mel's name. Just wanted to clear that up, in case anyone might be a bit lost :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

They were leaving in two days, and Mel was determined to spend them visiting the places she loved most. Of course, if all went well this would not be the last time she was in Rivendell. She hoped to return with what she had come to find, to bring the Entwives to this place of rest before moving on. But she didn't know how long that would be. It could be weeks, or months, or (god forbid) _longer_ before she returned. So she had spent today with Rod and Birch, saying goodbye the way she hadn't been able to the first time she had left them. Tomorrow she planned to say farewell to the twins. But tonight she wandered the Pine Grove in the twilight, running her fingers over the bark of the evergreens, letting her mind wander back to a time when she had laid in the grass and needles with the man she loved, afraid of what lay beyond and uncertain of what she was about to do.

That was where he found her.

"What do they say to you?"

Mel jumped and turned toward the voice. Legolas stood half-hidden in shadow, the light of the crescent moon barely enough to illuminate his shape through the tree boughs.

"Nothing of interest," she answered, feeling slightly uneasy, but not knowing why, "Only pleasantries. They are sad we are leaving so soon."

"What do they call you?"

Mel balked at the bitter bite of the question. It didn't sound right in his voice, the voice of _her_ Legolas. But of course, this wasn't _her_ Legolas, it was so hard to remember sometimes.

"Calenhiril," she answered, keeping a hand firmly anchored to one of the pine trunks, "But you already know that. You've heard it before."

"Yes," he said, finally pushing away from the trees and stepping into the full light of the clearing, "I have heard that name before."

His face was expressionless, still like marble, his eyes searching her face as he stalked toward her with careful steps. Mel resisted the urge to step back. Legolas, even _this_ Legolas, would never hurt her. So why was she afraid?

He must have seen some trace of her fear, because he stopped moving. His eyes left her face, turning up to follow the line of the nearest pine trunk, one long, slender finger absently tracing the lines of the bark.

"Did you know that elves dream?"

Mel blinked. These words were spoken softly, almost gently, though his face didn't exhibit any difference in emotion.

"I… hadn't given it much thought," she confessed, "I had assumed, but…"

"It is difficult to explain," he said, "We do not sleep as Men and dwarves, but our minds… sometimes they wander. Past, present, all become mixed and molded together. It can be unsettling."

Mel nodded. She could see that. She still didn't understand why they were talking about it, but…

"Why does your name echo in my nightmares?"

Mel jerked backward, nearly stumbling, her white-knuckled grip on the pine tree the only thing keeping her upright. She desperately tried to control her expression, but it was a losing battle. Legolas was staring at her, watching every nuance of her reaction and she knew that he missed nothing. She swallowed.

"Wha… What?" she rasped, her mind whirling, playing for time.

Legolas took a step closer, his eyes narrowed.

"No more lies," he whispered, "No more secrets. Tell me true, _Mel_."

Her heart lodged in her throat and pounded there. Her name… He'd… He'd said her _name…_

"I… I don't…"

She stumbled over her words as they tumbled over her tongue, her thoughts a jumble of nonsense and lies and desperate hope. Did he know? Did he _remember?_ No. No, if he _knew_ he would not be looking at her like an enemy, like a hypocrite. But then… what had he said?

 _Why does your name echo in my nightmares?_

There was something, something in his mind, something in his _soul,_ reaching for her, calling him. Somewhere, deeply hidden inside of him, he _knew_ her! But what did that mean? What was she supposed to do? If she tried to tell him the truth, would he even believe her? And if he did believe her, if she reawakened those memories… what would that mean for the deal that had been struck with the Valar? Would her interference void their bargain? She remembered her desperate despair on the Morannon, the hopeless panic of her terrible choice. And she remembered dying _very_ vividly. If Legolas remembered, would she die? Would _he_ die? Would _Boromir_ …? She couldn't risk it. She couldn't lose them again.

She steeled herself against the desperation on her friend's face, knowing what she had to do.

"I don't know."

It wasn't a lie. She didn't know why Legolas heard her name in his dreams. It had obviously disturbed him or he wouldn't be here. But she had no answers for him. Only pain, pain that she saw flicker across his face now, along with a flurry of other emotions, settling finally on burning fury.

"What are you hiding?" he snapped, his voice rising to a shout, "Why do you give a false name? Does your husband know? Or have you deceived him as well, hiding some secret past from a man you claim to love?"

So he didn't remember Boromir, didn't recognize him still. Mel wondered briefly why that would be, but quickly pushed it aside in favor of righteous indignation.

"My husband knows everything about me," she retorted, keeping her voice level, "We do not keep secrets."

"But you would keep secrets from me?" he said, hurt creeping into his voice.

"We barely know one another, Prince Legolas," Mel answered and it hurt her to do it, broke her heart to say it out loud, "I hardly tell the entire story of my life to everyone I meet."

"Who are you?!" he shouted, and Mel hadn't realized how close he was until he took her by the arms and shook her, "Tell me! _Who are you?!_ "

She wrenched away and drew herself up.

"I am Calenhiril, the Daughter of Yavanna, and you will _watch_ _yourself_ , Prince of the Mirkwood!"

The trees of the Pine Grove shuddered in terrible unison and she felt the Yavannacor warm on her finger, but Legolas did not even seem to notice. He was staring at his own hands in horror, as if he didn't understand what they had done. Mel felt a little sick. She had seen that expression before. It was the same look Boromir had worn at Amon Hen, after losing himself to the Ring. Mel swallowed and kept her chin up, even though she knew the pain she was feeling must surely be showing on her face.

"I… I'm sorry," Legolas rasped, taking a stumbling step back, "My lady, forgive me, I… I don't know what has come over me. These dreams… And then I heard you speaking to Frodo and I just… I don't know what is happening, but sometimes it feels as if…"

He looked up and his blue gaze pierced her, just for a moment, as if _her_ Legolas was looking out of this Legolas' eyes.

"Iston i nîf dhîn…" he whispered, almost reverently.

Then he blinked and shook his head, dropping his eyes back to his hands.

"Sometimes it feels as if I should know you," he said, "And that frightens me. But I don't know _why_ …"

And suddenly, Mel thought she knew why. It was because of the choice he had made. To forget her. To never know her. To save her life. Some part of him was afraid of _exactly_ the same thing she was. That if he remembered, everything would be undone. And the more he knew her, the harder it was to forget. She was hurting him. God, she had been _hurting_ him, all this time…

"Oh, orenyanil…" she breathed, barely loud enough to be more than just a mouthing of the words.

He looked up, his eyes wide and confused and afraid. She reached out and brushed her fingers against his cheek, as if she could brush away the hurt she had caused.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking with the tears she was trying so hard not to shed, "I'm… so sorry, I… I didn't know…"

And before she lost her nerve, Mel turned and walked away. She took long, purposeful strides out of the Pine Grove, kept her head high in the moonlight as she passed through the garden, and only when she reached the stone archways of the corridor did she break into a run. She ran and she ran, wishing she could outrun what she was feeling, what had happened, the remnants of her old life that hurt _so much_.

She ran until she reached her room, slamming the door shut behind her and leaning back against it, eyes closed, gasping for air, still trying not to let the tears burning the backs of her eyes escape.

"Melody?" Boromir's voice asked softly, cautiously, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"We're leaving," she said, her eyes still screwed shut, "Now. Tonight. We can't wait for the wizard, we have to go."

"Why, what's happened?"

She heard him move toward her and she slipped away from him, finally opening her eyes and locating her bag in the corner, yanking it out and going through the contents, repacking what little she had.

"He knows," she said, almost without thinking, her mind still whirling, "I don't know how, but he knows. He knows we've been lying to him, he knows we are not who we say, god, how could I have been so _stupid?!_ "

She slammed her bag back into the corner and sat hard on the floor her face in her hands, trying to get a hold of herself, trying not to panic, not to cry. Oh god… Oh god, what had she done?

"Melody…"

Boromir's voice was soft and gentle as he pulled her hands from her face, holding them both in his own as he knelt on the floor before her.

"Tell me what happened, my love."

She took a shuddering breath.

"Legolas," she said, "He knows. He doesn't _remember_. But he knows. And I think… I think something terrible might happen. Worse than that… I think I'm _hurting_ him, and I can't… We can't let him come with us. We have to leave him behind."

Saying it out loud, what she planned to do and why, was the very last crack in what remained of her resolve. She felt tears well up and spill over her cheeks, but there was nothing she could do to stop them. Boromir's expression softened and he tucked a lock of her disheveled hair behind her ear, resting his hand on her cheek and brushing at her tears with his thumb.

"Very well," he murmured, "We'll go."

Mel buried her face in his shoulder and he held her as she sobbed.

* * *

The next morning Legolas woke early, the sun just barely beginning to show color over the Misty Mountains. He thought of going directly to the room of Esgalion and Lindel to offer his apologies, but given the circumstances, he wasn't entirely sure that would be appropriate. So he went to the dining hall instead, ate a leisurely breakfast, and waited for his companions to join him. Gimli did, only a few minutes later. The Gondorians did not. He waited, with growing impatience, and when the pair did not appear after a full hour, Legolas pushed away from the table and went to their room, propriety be damned.

It was empty. The door was open and the room that Esgalion and Lindel had shared was empty, with no trace that it had been occupied. Legolas stood in the doorway for several seconds, staring dumbfounded at the vacant space.

"Ah, my lord Legolas!"

Legolas turned toward the voice automatically, not out of any real desire to acknowledge the speaker. Lindir, Lord Elrond's steward, approached him with a folded bit of paper in his hand.

"I've been searching for you all morning. The dwarf said I might find you here."

"Where have they gone?" Legolas asked, aware that his tone was far harsher than was necessary, and that the question might require clarification, "Esgalion and Lindel. Have they been moved to a different room?"

Lindir's face did not betray any emotion. He was as still and calm as a statue.

"No, my lord," he said, carefully, "They departed in the dark hours before dawn. The lady Lindel asked that I deliver this to you."

Legolas stared at the folded paper for a long moment before he finally reached out and plucked it from Lindir's outstretched fingers with a hand just this side of trembling. Lindir nodded once and left him, no word, no curiosity, the absolute soul of discretion. It was what made him so good at his job.

For a long time, Legolas did not open the note, just stared at it in the hand that he now allowed to tremble in the privacy of his own company. What if he simply dropped it? What if he never opened it, never read, never _acknowledged_ …?

With a deft motion, he slipped a finger into the fold of the parchment and smoothed it flat. The writing was splotchy and uneven, as if the hand was not quite used to handling a quill. But the message was clear.

 _Legolas,_

 _I'm sorry. I cannot begin to express to you how very sorry I am. But I have to leave you, and I have to ask you not to follow._

 _We each have a path we are meant to tread. And sometimes those paths are not meant to cross. You have a wonderful one ahead of you. After all that you have faced, there is life and hope along your path, and that path is so important. And if we remain on this path we've been forging together, I fear that your true path, that path of life and hope, might be lost forever in the undergrowth of my selfishness. I couldn't bear that. I couldn't bear to hurt you._

 _But I refuse to regret that our paths crossed. Ever. You have been my light in dark places, even though you can never know how or when or why. It breaks my heart to let you go, just as I'm sure it once… Maybe that's what it was all for. So that I would know how you felt, once upon a time._

 _I'm sorry. Please forget me._

 _Mel_

* * *

Mel didn't talk about the letter she had written and Boromir didn't ask about it. He had written his own letter for Gandalf marking their early departure, with assurances that they would wait for the wizard on the banks of the Bruinen. Both letters had been left with the confused, but compliant Lindir, who had assured both prompt delivery and discretion. Boromir had not so much as mentioned Mel's letter since. She was grateful for that, for _him_ , and she just wanted to count this one small blessing and forget the rest, forget everything, as she had asked her friend to forget.

They traveled for the better part of a day through the forest surrounding Rivendell before they reached the Ford of the Bruinen and made camp. It was peaceful, the murmuring trees and the babbling water. They sparred a bit on the banks of the river to pass the time, and Mel felt a pang of regret that she had not had the chance to say goodbye to the twins as she had planned. As usual, Boromir beat her soundly over and over again, but Mel didn't mind so much as she had used to. She knew he gave her no quarter, never underestimated her, and when the day finally, when she _did_ beat him, she would know that she had won on her own merit, not because he had let her win. It was comforting. And the exercise made her feel better.

"I almost wish we had fishing poles," Mel mused, as they sat by the banks of the shallow water, resting in the dappled light of the afternoon.

Boromir raised an eyebrow.

"I would not have taken you for one that enjoys fishing."

Mel smiled, leaning back on her elbows.

"I'm not. Never had the patience. My dad took me fishing exactly twice when I was a kid. He wasn't much of a fisher either. But this place, it just sort of begs for a fishing pole, don't you think?"

"You never talk about your father," Boromir said, glancing up from the stick he had started whittling absently, "You've told me about your mother, and you go on and on about the twins. But I think this might be the first time I've heard you mention doing anything with your father."

Mel was silent for a moment, turning her face up to let the sun warm her skin as she thought.

"I guess I just don't have much to say on the subject," she said, shrugging, "He left when I was ten."

There was a tense pause.

"What?"

Mel could practically feel the anger pulsing off Boromir and rolled her eyes.

"Relax," she said, sitting up and bumping into his shoulder good-naturedly, "It was a mutual separation. My mom and dad, well they sort of got married on a whim. My mom used to volunteer for this big nature advocacy group, saving the planet from the harmful effects of the human race. My dad was a lawyer, and he did some pro bono work for them when he was young. They're both passionate people and they fell passionately in love. Only my dad grew out of the nature conservation thing. Mom didn't. So they went their separate ways. It was amicable."

She glanced at Boromir and discovered that he was staring at her. She sort of deflated, grinning.

"And most of what I just said was _complete_ nonsense to you, wasn't it?"

He raised an eyebrow and smiled sheepishly.

"I admit, Melody, sometimes I forget that you are from a different world than mine, so well have you adapted. And then there are moments like these that remind me just how far you have come. I am constantly astounded by you," Mel huffed a laugh, "So, your father and your mother, they didn't live together?"

Mel shook her head.

"Nope. Dad took a job in the city, my sisters and I stayed with Mom in the woods."

"And this was a socially acceptable situation?"

"Yep. Just like it was socially acceptable for me to be twenty-four and living on my own. Lots of things were different."

"I would never leave you."

Startled, Mel looked up from the grass she had been picking at. Boromir was staring at her intensely, the whittling in his hands forgotten.

"No matter how our interests may differ, no matter how hard it might become, I would never leave you, Melody."

Mel smiled and reached out to cover one of his hands with hers.

"I know, Boromir," she said, "It was different for them. We're living a different life."

He nodded and squeezed her fingers, though Mel wasn't sure if this was meant to be reassuring for her or for him. Then he went back to his whittling, as if the subject had been exhausted. Mel lay back and closed her eyes, letting the sun and Boromir's conviction warm her all the way through.

* * *

Gandalf arrived the next day, four hobbits in tow. The party stopped for lunch and "introductions" were made. Frodo smiled pleasantly at Mel, and that made her feel a little better. At least _he_ didn't appear to be experiencing any nasty side effects from her confession.

They packed and made ready to move on, but Frodo seemed reluctant to enter the water, his face pale and his manner becoming withdrawn, distant. Only when Gandalf suggested that they cross together did he seem to relax enough to allow the others to usher him across the Bruinen.

"It is one year to the day since Weathertop," the little hobbit confessed in hushed tones to Gandalf, touching his shoulder almost absently.

"Ah, yes," the wizard replied, puffing somberly on his pipe, "Some wounds can never fully heal."

"I fear it may be so for me," Frodo said, distantly, "Where will I find rest, Gandalf?"

Boromir exchanged a look with Mel, but she shook her head slightly. She would tell him later, when there weren't so many ears close by.

Merry and Pippin tried to keep up spirits, but it was difficult with the gloom of Frodo's melancholy hanging over them. They sang a few songs, they laughed, they told stories. In the spirit of the thing, Boromir and Mel made sure to laugh in all the right places, exchanging knowing looks when certain events were mentioned, things they had once been present for. When they stopped for the night, Merry and Pippin decided there was some dispute to be settled between them, and only a contest of sword play would do. They jumped up, swords in hand, and took stances, swinging their blades with surprisingly good form. Once Merry slipped and came up short, but instead of coming in for the deciding swing, Pippin stepped back.

"No, no Merry, you've done it wrong again," he said, waiting for his cousin to pick himself up, "Don't you remember, Boromir said…"

His voice trailed off and his gaze flickered in Boromir's direction, then down to his toes, swinging his sword at his side absently. Mel felt Boromir stiffen slightly beside her and put a hand on his arm.

"Yeah, Pip, I remember," Merry said grudgingly, breaking the silence before it was even properly a silence as he found his feet again, "Come on, let me have another go. I'll get it this time."

They went back to their sword play and soon it was as if the whole thing had never happened. But Mel wondered… Even as she leaned her head against Boromir's arm and felt him relax against her in painfully small increments, she wondered...

Later that night, when Boromir and the hobbits all lay deeply asleep, Mel got up and tiptoed toward the glow of Gandalf's pipe in the dark, where he sat keeping watch. He turned to smile at her as she settled in next to him.

"You should be resting, my dear," he said in a low voice, "There will be much to do in the days ahead."

Mel ignored the weak attempt at deflection, wrapping her arms around her knees.

"Do they know, do you think?" she asked, jerking her chin in the direction of the sleeping hobbits, "Do you think they suspect anything?"

Gandalf puffed thoughtfully for a moment, releasing a perfectly formed smoke ring into the cool breeze before he replied.

"I think perhaps their hearts understand more than their minds," he said, cryptically, "But they are not in any danger, if that is what you mean."

Mel pressed her cheek to the tops of her knees and let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Good. That's good."

Gandalf glanced at her, but said nothing more for several moments, the embers of his pipe pulsing with each breath.

"It took everything in my power to convince him not to come," he said.

Mel flinched and resisted the urge to bury her face in her knees. Gandalf did her the courtesy of pretending not to notice, staring absently out into the dark.

"Even your note, asking him to remain behind, it was not enough. He was quite angry."

"I didn't know what else to do," she whispered, sounding far more helpless than she would have liked.

"I think it was the right thing," Gandalf said, nodding slightly, "Or at least, it was the best you _could_ do, under the circumstances. I sensed something uneasy in the elf-prince when you first came to us. He is uncertain, doubtful of himself. He needs his confidence, especially in the days to come."

"It was selfish of me to bring him along in the first place," Mel said bitterly.

"Perhaps," the wizard conceded, not unkindly, "But you needed him. The quest you have been set is of paramount importance. And you could not have known…"

"Of course I could," Mel snapped, glaring up at him, "I knew the moment I set eyes on him. I just didn't want to believe it. I knew that Legolas was special, _is_ special. I've always known that. What we feel for each other, it's just as strong as what I feel for Boromir, different, but just as strong and just as dangerous. Of all my friends, _he's_ the one that was chosen as Boromir's replacement, to die in his place. They chose Legolas. And he gave me up so that I could live and be happy. I owe him everything, and all I've repaid him with is confusion, fear, lies, and deception."

Mel turned her eyes back to the darkness, resting her chin on her knees.

"And I can't even bring myself to regret it, the chance to see him, to talk to him, to pretend for a little while that we could still be friends. I don't regret it. And I wish I did."

There was a pause. Then a gentle hand rested on her shoulder.

"You are far too harsh with yourself, Mel," Gandalf whispered, "After all, you are only human. You should remember that every once in a while."

Mel deflated a little, leaning into the wizard's comforting touch briefly. Gandalf squeezed reassuringly and then released her.

"Now, try to get some sleep," he said, "We have much to do yet."

Mel nodded and slipped away, back to the arms of her husband, letting his solid warmth comfort her instead.

* * *

 **Elvish Translations**  
 _(all translations are Sindarin unless otherwise noted)_

Iston i nîf dhîn- I know your face.

orenyanil (q)- my heart (inner mind) friend


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Wow! Such response for the last chapter! You guys kill me :) I love the enthusiasm, I hope you'll all keep it coming! Apropos of nothing, here is the next chapter, posted early! Enjoy! :)

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

The next day, the melancholy that had shadowed their company seemed to pass and their journey became a merry, rambling affair. The hobbits didn't seem to be in any hurry and Gandalf didn't seem to be in mind to hurry them along, but as the mornings grew chillier, Mel began to feel the first stirrings of anxiousness. She had hoped they might be through with all this before winter set in, but it was mid-October and it felt like they were no nearer to finding what they sought. They had left the forests of Rivendell behind and the only trees that dotted the plains were young and had no stories to tell of the Entwives, though she often asked as she passed. Surely there should at least be stories, legends, _something_... She began to doubt the wisdom of coming this way, a gnawing in her gut that warred with her conviction that there was nothing else they could have done.

It took a few weeks before Mel saw anything that made her believe they might actually be making some progress. The ruin of an old tower sat on a lone hill in the distance, looking out over the plains, the startling beauty of the setting sun contrasting starkly with the dreariness of the structure.

"That is the ruin of Amon Sûl," Boromir said, glancing up at the sky rapidly clouding over above them, "We should make camp there. A rain is coming on and it will give us a bit of shelter-"

"No."

Everyone turned toward Frodo, whose face had gone so pale it seemed almost transparent. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword in a white knuckled grip.

"No, let's just… let's just move on," he said, his voice harsh and desperate, "Please."

The other hobbits all dropped their heads and said nothing. Boromir glanced at Mel and she gave him a little shake of her head. Boromir nodded.

"Very well, little one," he said, "If you think it best."

He had taken to calling them all that, 'little one', a remnant of the old days, and Mel didn't think he knew, but sometimes the hobbits gave him odd looks afterward when his back was turned, as if they could almost glimpse the true Boromir behind the mask he wore.

They made camp well beyond the watchtower, and once the fire was bright and food had been handed around, Frodo quite deliberately sat down beside Boromir, poking absently at a tomato slice with his fork. Boromir went almost unnaturally still. After several moments, the hobbit spoke.

"I wanted to apologize," he said, in a very formal tone, "I know you must think it quite ridiculous of me to pass up the opportunity at shelter there on the cliff tops."

"I think no such thing of you, Master Baggins," Boromir said, stiffly, but not unkindly.

"The truth is, well, when we passed this way before, we had a bit of a… well a struggle you might call it. With the Nazgul."

Boromir stared at Frodo, plate forgotten in his hand.

"Nazgul?" he said, as if having trouble processing it, "Nazgul came here?"

Frodo nodded, but didn't look up from his mutilated tomato slice.

"They were looking for me. For what I carried, anyway. I was foolish…"

"We were all a little foolish that night, begging your pardon Mister Frodo." Sam said quietly.

All of the hobbits were staring at their feet or into the fire, distant and haunted.

"Well, be that as it may," Frodo conceded, "We were trapped up there, and I was stabbed," He pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the knotted scar just below his collarbone, "The wound still pains me sometimes."

Mel shuddered and pushed in closer to Boromir's side. Boromir looked both pained and awed. He reached out a hand, almost absently, and brushed at the wound with a rough fingertip, then pulled back as if he had just remembered himself. Frodo tugged the shirt back up to cover the scar self-consciously.

"You are the bravest and strongest creature I have ever known, Frodo Baggins of the Shire," Boromir whispered.

Frodo jerked and stared at him, but it took a second for Mel to figure out why. In that moment, Boromir had sounded more like his old self than she had heard in ages. Boromir seemed to recognize it too, because he immediately dropped his gaze and cleared his throat, cutting into a sausage with concentration.

"You did not have to relive such horror on my account," he said gruffly, as if to make up for the bit of himself he had allowed to shine through, "I would have taken your word."

"Yes, well," Frodo said, dropping his eyes back to his own plate, "The two of you have traveled with us for many weeks now. And you are friends of Gandalf. Any friend of Gandalf is a friend of mine, and as my friends, I think you have a right to know why you might be getting rained on in the middle of the night."

He managed a half smile in their direction and caught Mel's eye. She smiled back at him. Boromir did not look up, merely nodded. Mel was fairly certain that she was the only one that noticed he had gone unnaturally still again. Frodo certainly didn't seem to notice, only smiled and finally began to eat the food he had been merely picking at before.

When the time came to turn in, Boromir volunteered for the first watch. Mel sat up with him, and for a long time they watched the stars whirl overhead in comfortable silence. Once the hobbits had dropped off to sleep, she told him in a whisper what she could remember of the hobbits' journey from the Shire to Rivendell, including what had happened to Frodo on Weathertop.

"No one person should have to endure such hardship," Boromir said when she was done.

He was staring over the embers of the fire, toward the bundle of blankets that contained the hobbits.

"Had I known, when all this began-"

"-it wouldn't have made any difference," Mel murmured, tucking herself into his side, "Frodo made his choices and fought his battles. He has battles still to face, but he will face them and he will come through, because he is strong and brave and kind. Everything will turn out alright in the end. You'll see."

Boromir nodded, but his gaze was distant, not troubled, but pained.

"He called us friends," he whispered, almost too low for Mel to hear, "If he only knew..."

Mel smiled and wound her arm through his, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"It wouldn't make any difference," she said again, "I know you don't believe that, but it wouldn't."

Boromir did not answer. Mel closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder, trying to will the words into his soul.

* * *

The next morning it started to rain, but this didn't seem to dampen the spirits of the hobbits in the least, despite the fact that the rain did not show any signs of letting up any time soon. It continued all day in a steady stream that was not quite a drizzle, not quite a downpour, and when they finally made camp only Gandalf was able to make a fire from the damp wood they could find. But once the fire was crackling under the cover of the dripping trees, with everyone warm and a hot meal in their bellies, it didn't really seem that bad.

But the rain continued the next day. And the next. On the third day, Mel could see evidence of wear and tear on the hobbits good spirits.

"You know, Gandalf," Pippin said, his pony sauntering up to next to Shadowfax, "You being a wizard and all, shouldn't you be able to do something about-" He waved his hand in the air absently, "-all this?"

Gandalf raised an eyebrow at the hobbit, pausing for a moment almost in shock. Then he shook his head, sending rain water scattering from the hood of his cloak.

"You are certainly not the first to ask such a thing of me, Peregrin Took, and I imagine you will not be the last. But I will tell you what I told the one who came before you: if you are looking for someone to change the patterns of the weather, you shall have to find yourself another wizard."

"Oh no, thank you!" Merry said, urging his pony forward, "I think we've had quite enough of wizards and the like. Other than you, of course, Gandalf. You seem to be the only decent one of the lot."

"Now I wouldn't go so far as all that," Gandalf countered, "The others of my order are odd, to be sure, and mostly reclusive, but that does not make them either bad or good. And though Saruman was corrupted, he was not always so. He was once very good and very wise. Do not be so quick to judge that which you have not seen the whole of, Meriadoc Brandybuck. Most of those we think now to be evil did not begin that way. Even Sauron was once a force of creation, rather than destruction."

"What, Sauron?" Merry exclaimed, "Come now Gandalf, you make very bad jests."

"Which is why I rarely do so, and I am not joking now," Gandalf said, sternly, "Before his heart was turned to darkness, Sauron was a student of Aulë, the maker of the dwarves. Would you call Gimli evil?"

"Certainly not!" Pippin exclaimed, "He is one of the bravest people we know!"

"And yet Sauron learned all his craft at the feet of his Maker, many long years ago. He crafted the great Rings using his teachings. Not everything is exactly as you see it, Meriadoc Brandybuck, you should remember that."

The hobbits seemed quite puzzled by this and no more was said on the matter, but Mel thought that Frodo rode with his head a little further buried in his hood than usual. Of course, that could have just been the rain.

* * *

Their already slow progress had been dragged down to a crawl that drove Mel almost to distraction, but they did finally make it to Bree by nightfall on the fifth day. It took quite a lot of banging on the gate, but finally someone opened up and, after a few cryptic words, they were all let inside, though Boromir and Mel were given quite a long, suspicious stare before Gandalf vouched for them. They passed through the streets of the little town and Mel thought it seemed quite a bit more deserted than it should be. Where was everyone? It was dark and it was raining, maybe that just meant everyone was staying indoors. But even the Prancing Pony, which Mel had felt sure would be bustling, had only a few patrons.

Mel liked Barliman Butterbur instantly, just as she had imagined she would, just as she imagined _everyone_ probably did. But even the innkeeper's ineffable enthusiasm was not enough to erase the pall that seemed to have settled over the whole place.

"Things have just not been quite the same since you've been away, little masters," Barliman said over mugs of ale by the fire, "There's been trouble, a good sight of it, some of our own even killed in a skirmish not too long back!"

"How many?" Gandalf asked, puffing on his pipe with a disquieted expression.

"Three and two," he said, describing the whole affair in great detail, "And we've heard queer things coming out of the Shire too. It's odd times, I tell you, and we want nothing more than to be let be. But I'm sure it'll all be sorted out now, what with the king and all."

Mel sipped her ale and caught Boromir giving her a strange look. She raised an eyebrow and he shook his head slightly. A conversation for later, then. But not much later. Once they were ensconced in a room ('on the house to friends of Gandalf,' Barliman had said), Boromir sat her down and asked outright.

"What is happening in the Shire?"

Mel sighed and bent to tug off her boots, wiggling her toes in the rough fiber of the rug.

"Saruman and Grima have taken control."

Boromir jerked back, startled.

"The _wizard_ , Saruman?"

Mel nodded, but didn't look up from her toes.

"He's taken over the running of the Shire, causing mischief and chaos, just... just for the pure hell of it, really. He's got a bunch of others working with him, it's a real mess. The people here in Bree don't know the half of it, I'm sure. I don't even remember most of what happens, but I remember it is a _mess_."

"And they're riding right into it," Boromir said, sighing and running a hand through his hair, "And I suppose there is nothing to be done about it?"

Mel shook her head.

"No, they need to take care of it, in their own way. Believe it or not, it does the hobbits good to fight their own battles. It shows them that they're strong, and it gets our four friends right with their own people. It all works out in the end."

Boromir stood suddenly, pacing before the fireplace, running his hands through his hair absently.

"It just seems so…" He ruffled his hair again, "…so unfair. Haven't they been through enough? That they must come home and be faced with…"

He waved his hand in the air in a general gesture.

"It's not so bad," Mel said, "Trust me. They'll be alright."

"Would you tell me if they weren't?" he snapped, and immediately turned away, covering his face with his hand, heaving a deep breath, "That was uncalled for," he muttered, his voice still muffled by his hand, "Forgive me."

Mel got up and stood next to him, putting a hand firmly on his shoulder and pressing her cheek to his back.

"There's nothing to forgive," she assured him in a soft murmur, "I would tell you, and I know you know that. You're tired and you're scared. It's alright."

He dropped his hand from his face and covered hers instead.

"I draw my strength from you as ever, Melody."

She smiled and rose up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his temple.

"I'm sure I'll be needing yours for what's coming up," she said.

"What I have to give, I give you freely," he answered, turning to cup her face in his hands, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb, "Always and everything, my love."

He leaned down to kiss her and they didn't do much more talking the rest of the night.

* * *

They stayed in Bree all the next day, resting and gathering chatter from the locals. Not much of it was good, but the arrival of the hobbits and the tales they had to tell in trade around the Prancing Pony's cozy fire did much to ease the townspeople's troubled minds, even if it only brought more trouble to the minds of the hobbits. By the next morning, it was easy to see they were anxious to be off home, to see the truth of what had happened in their dear old Shire while they'd been away. The company packed up and headed off fairly quickly, but they hadn't gone too far into the rolling green country, when Gandalf turned aside.

"This is where we leave you, my dear hobbits," the wizard said, "As you know, Lindel, Esgalion, and I have business to attend to in the Old Forest."

"Oh, will you be seeing old Tom then?" Pippin asked, eager as ever.

Mel jumped and stared, first at Pippin, and then at Gandalf. Tom? Had that been what Gandalf meant, 'an old friend'? He hadn't said, but… Mel barely dared to hope…

"I think I should dearly like to see Tom Bombadil and Goldberry one more time," Frodo said, staring over the mist-covered hills, "I wonder how they are getting on?"

"As well as ever, you may be sure," Gandalf said, "And I should guess not much interested in anything that we have done or seen, except perhaps this-" He waved an arm in Mel and Boromir's general direction, "-business with the Ents. That I think might pique his interest very much, and the interest of his wife, if truth be told. But we shall see soon enough. As for you, my fine fellows…" He turned his attention fully back to the hobbits, "I think it would be wise for you all to press on for home, or you will not come to the Brandywine Bridge before the gates are locked up for the night."

"But there aren't any gates!" Merry said, rolling his eyes as if this were the most ridiculous notion.

"You mean there _weren't_ any gates," Gandalf said solemnly, his eyes wandering behind them to linger on the road running in a rambling manner away west, "I think you might find some now…"

His gaze refocused on the hobbits, looking up at him with a hint of unease and confusion in their eyes. He smiled, reassuringly.

"But you'll manage alright. Yes, quite alright."

He turned Shadowfax toward the misted hills to the north.

"Come now, Calenhiril, and bring your companion with you. We've much to do ourselves."

He turned and waved over his shoulder at the hobbits.

"Good-bye, dear friends!"

They all waved back from their ponies and called out good-byes.

"I hope you find what you're looking for, Mel!" Frodo called.

Mel saw Boromir startle out of the corner of her eye, but she only smiled and called back.

"Thank you, Frodo. I wish the same for you."

Gandalf had already taken Shadowfax into the hills and Mel and Boromir urged their horses to catch up. The hobbits shouted a few more "take cares" and "farewells", and Mel and Boromir both turned to wave again, but Gandalf was urging them onward and they were forced to turn and race to keep up with him. When Mel glanced back one last time, the hobbits were gone. Off home. She smiled at the thought, despite what she knew waited for them there.

"He knew your name," Boromir said, when they were well into the rolling countryside with only Gandalf to hear, "Frodo. He knew your real name."

"Of course," Mel said, "I told it to him."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing. He never asked me to explain. Just said that it suited me."

Boromir furrowed his brow, but finally he nodded.

"Well enough, I suppose," he agreed grudgingly, "But I think I shall always prefer your full name to that shortened appellation you insist upon."

Mel smiled fondly at him.

"On your lips, Boromir, so do I."

Boromir's expression softened into a fond smile that mirrored her own. Before she could blush at her own words, she urged her horse up to flank Gandalf, who had been deliberately silent up to now.

"So," she said, trying to mask her giddy excitement with casual indifference, "Tom Bombadil?"

"Yes," Gandalf agreed, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the horizon, "Tom Bombadil. He keeps to the Old Forest, you know, if anyone was to have any thoughts as to the nature or disappearance of the Entwives, it will be him. Or his wife Goldberry perhaps. Either way, speaking to them seems prudent."

The wizard then gave her a sideways glance that was nearly a smirk.

"I assume you do not object."

"No," Mel said, a little too quickly if the quirk of the wizard's lips was any judge, "No, not at all."

"Who is this Tom Bombadil?" Boromir asked, sidling up beside them, "Is he a woodsman?"

"Hardly!" Gandalf huffed with laughter, "Certainly not in the traditional sense."

"He's a mystery," Mel said, "Even in my world, where these things are picked over and analyzed practically to death, Tom Bombadil and Goldberry are mysteries. No one knows exactly what they are, except that they're ancient and wise and completely lovely creatures, or so I've heard."

"You are not wrong," Gandalf said, "Though they are an odd pair, I find their company quite captivating."

"And we must pass through _this_ place to find them?" Boromir asked, glancing around warily.

They had reached the misty hills of the Barrow-downs, but Mel was more intrigued than frightened. The sun was still shining through the mist, and the barrows dotting the tops of the hills were no more than piles of rocks with broken doors or dark openings. If Mel looked too closely at any of them she did begin to feel a bit of a chill, but it was nothing she couldn't shake off. And besides, Gandalf was with them, which made it difficult to feel any real fear.

"Do the Barrow-wights still haunt this place, Gandalf?" she asked, more out of curiosity than anything else, "Or did the fall of Sauron take care of them too?"

"It was the fall of the Witch-King of Angmar that caused the undoing of the Barrow-wights," Gandalf said, "They were his creatures, born of his magic. What you feel now is nothing more than a shadow, an echo of their presence that will soon pass. By this time next year, I'd wager, the people of these lands will hardly remember why they were afraid to pass through this country in the first place."

"I cannot imagine how," Boromir said solemnly, hand resting lightly on his sword hilt.

"That won't do you any good, you know," Mel said, nodding at his sword, "They're ghosts, not exactly susceptible to steel."

"It is more for my own comfort than for protection," Boromir said, without a hint of shame or irony.

Mel rolled her eyes, but she left him alone.

Despite Boromir's unease, they passed through the Barrow-downs without incident and reached the edge of the Old Forest. But the sun had already set, leaving only the orange and pink of its passing on the horizon, and so Gandalf suggested they make camp for the night.

"I thought you said this Tom Bombadil was a friend of yours?" Boromir said as they dismounted just short of the forest's edge, "Could we not press on and find shelter with him for the night?"

"I have known Tom Bombadil for many long years," Gandalf said, "But that does not mean I wish to impose upon his hospitality on short-notice, uninvited."

"You don't know where he lives, do you?" Mel said, throwing a half-joking look Gandalf's way.

The wizard pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, but his lack of definitive answer was all the answer Mel needed. She stared at the wizard incredulously for a few seconds before she burst into an unexpected peal of laughter.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, trying to rein herself in unsuccessfully, "Oh my god, you really don't! You don't know where he lives!"

"He is a very reclusive creature," Gandalf insisted, stubbornly, "His house is not always located in the same place, and so he cannot always be _found_ in the same place."

"So, to be perfectly clear," Boromir said, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes at the wizard, "We are on the edge of a field that was, until _very_ recently, filled with deadly, malevolent spirits, on the verge of entering a forest with a reputation for being filled with dangerous creatures of varying and unknown degrees…"

"And the trees have a tendency to try to swallow you whole," Mel added helpfully.

Boromir stared at her. Mel cringed.

"I'm just saying."

"…with trees that apparently want to _eat_ us," Boromir amended slowly, turning back to Gandalf, "And you propose that we enter this forest to find a man who, by your own admission, does not particularly want to be found and whose house, by some enchantment I assume, is impossible to locate, even by you."

There was a long pause. Gandalf did not reply, did not even bother to bluster, just gave Boromir a long measured look. Boromir's eyes flicked back and forth between Mel and Gandalf for several seconds, but finally he rolled his eyes and sighed, turning back to his horse.

"Gandalf, I feel I can safely say that traveling with you is never dull."

Mel burst into another gale of laughter and Gandalf smiled enigmatically as ever and they continued to set camp for the night with no more talk of what lay ahead or behind.

* * *

 **A/N:** Wow, that was quite the history lesson. I hope I got my facts right for the most part. I think I did :) Until next time!


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Since I'm not certain if I'm going to be able to post a chapter on Thursday, I'm letting you guys know now that there will be a break in posting chapters during the month of July. It's Camp NaNoWriMo and while I will be working on finishing up Changing History as part of my 50,000 word goal, I won't be posting new chapters during this time. Thank you guys so much for your patience and support!

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

The next morning just after dawn, the three travelers slipped beyond the borders of the Old Forest. They had to leave the horses behind, but a murmured word from Gandalf and Shadowfax, Lord of Horses, promptly gathered the others two and together they loped away across the mist covered hills.

"They will be waiting in Bree when our business is done," Gandalf assured them.

Mel could feel the trees of the Old Forest far more keenly than she had ever felt any before, but the trees didn't seem concerned with _her_ in the slightest. They barely gave her more than what might have been a passing glance. They murmured amongst themselves, as other forests did, but the general impression was one of long-held indifference. This was an ancient wood, far more so than she might have guessed, and they had long ago lost any interest in the affairs of the world beyond.

"So what is the plan, wizard?" Boromir asked, glancing up into the trees uneasily. When Gandalf did not immediately respond, he focused his uneasy expression on the white-robed figure, "Assuming that there _is,_ in fact, a plan."

"Of course there is," Gandalf huffed, tapping his staff absently on the exposed root of one of the trees. The tree shuddered and mumbled irritatedly in Mel's head.

"I wouldn't do that," she said.

Gandalf gave her a sideways glance, then stepped back, gathering his staff to his chest and bowing slightly to the tree in question.

"My apologies," he murmured and Mel smiled, "But... hm. Perhaps the power of the Calenhiril could be of some assistance in our endeavor to find the Master of this forest."

"Um, okay…" Mel said, skeptically, "How, exactly?"

"Yes, I would also be interested to know how this fits into the _plan_ you allegedly possess," Boromir said suspiciously, moving within a hair's breadth of touching Mel, his shoulders tense.

"It is nothing dangerous, Boromir, I assure you," Gandalf said, "I would not intentionally place Melody in harm's way."

"That has not been my experience," Boromir grumbled.

"Excuse me," Mel said, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at Boromir, "I don't know if you remember, but I'm actually standing right here. And I'm perfectly capable of deciding what's dangerous and what's not, thank you very much."

"That has _also_ not been my experience," Boromir said, his expression mirroring Mel's in firm disagreement.

"Gandalf, what do you need me to do?" Mel asked, stubbornly not taking her eyes off Boromir.

There was a pause. Mel and Boromir continued to glare at each other, neither backing down even a little bit.

"I only wondered," Gandalf said finally, almost reluctantly, "If you might send out a message to the forest, letting them know we are searching for their Master."

"Done."

Mel shut her eyes and flung open the door of her mind. What happened next nearly sent her to her knees. There was _power_ here, more power than she had ever felt in her life, pulsing under the surface of the forest like a green, glowing heartbeat. And with her mind opened wide that power slammed into her like a cement truck, thudding in her chest and vibrating through every nerve ending, filling her up so fully that within seconds it was either expel it in some way or explode. And as had so often happened before, the excess power came out in her voice.

" **We seek Tom Bombadil, he who is called the Master of this Forest."**

Mel felt the ripple of power pulse out from her chest and she nearly sagged with the release of energy, but she caught herself without ever stumbling. The force of her words hit the trees like a strong wind, creaking and rustling out into the forest, and they responded as a single powerful entity in her mind.

" _ **We are trees of legend and myth, and we have no Master. None dare to rule us and neither are we commanded, even by She who possesses the power of the Mother. Speak as you will, Calenhiril, speak and search at your leisure, but do not presume to command us."**_

Now that the power within her had lessened and she had managed to catch her breath, Mel rushed to pull herself back together and send out her thoughts again, this time only in the silence of her mind.

" _Forgive my insolence,"_ she said, and even her thoughts sounded drained, _"It was not my intention to offend. The strength of ages present among you overwhelmed me and I was not myself. I do not presume to command or to rule, only to find that for which I have been sent. Please, I beg you, where may we find the one called Tom Bombadil, who resides among you and calls himself your friend?"_

Another shudder rippled out through the trees, followed by a poignant pause.

"Melody?"

Boromir's voice in her ear was nervous and much closer than she remembered. With her eyes still closed, concentrating, she raised her hand and it came into contact with his chest. She rested her palm there comfortingly. She could feel his heart pounding through his tunic.

"It's okay," she whispered, "It's okay. Just wait."

The ripple returned, backtracking through the forest and converging on them in a rush that Mel could feel more than hear. Boromir gasped and she felt his chest expand, but it was a small part of her thoughts, the majority of her mind concentrating on filtering the power of the forest, waiting for the trees to speak.

" _ **The one whom this Age calls Tom Bombadil is of his own accord and his own mind. We do not track his movements and he is not the commander of our deeds. But he prefers the water's babble most of all. You may find him there."**_

Mel released a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

" _Thank you."_

The power dispersed in a sigh that echoed her own and Mel finally opened her eyes.

"The Withywindle," she said, trying not to sound breathless, "They say we might find him along the Withywindle, but that's all they would tell me."

Gandalf merely nodded, his brow furrowed.

"I had hoped for more, but it's a start," he muttered, turning away and touching the trees closest to him, as if he might be able to divine something on his own.

Mel sighed, feeling drained, as if the power of the forest had wiped her clean of her own power in its wake. Absently, she allowed her eyes to follow the line of her arm and realized that Boromir was staring at her, his mouth nearly slack with what she could only describe as awe. That was when she remembered her hand, still resting on his chest, and saw the glow of the Yavannacor slowly fading away. She jerked her hand away and cradled it to her in an almost protective gesture.

"Sorry, I-"

But Boromir had already snatched her hand back, pressing it fervently to his chest again, his eyes still wide.

"I felt it," he whispered, awestruck and raspy, "What you feel, what they give you, some part of that power… I felt it."

Mel stared at him for a long time before her mind was able to form some kind of response.

"How?"

"I don't know," he said, glancing around the forest in a dim daze, "Something to do with this place, perhaps?"

"The power of this forest is beyond the comprehension of most," Gandalf interjected unexpectedly, causing both Mel and Boromir to jump, "Including myself, and that is no small feat. You should neither of you underestimate it."

"And you allowed my wife to open herself to this unpredictable force with no warning?" Boromir growled, eyes flashing in Gandalf's direction, "Is it truly any wonder that I question your intentions, wizard?"

"Um, hello?" Mel said, waving her free hand in the air in front of his face, "Still standing right here…"

"If the two of you had not been so eager to prove your stubbornness, I would gladly have provided ample warning beforehand," Gandalf snapped, "But instead you insisted on provoking each other to foolishness, something I am not required to moderate or tolerate."

"We would never have _been_ provoked to such a contest had you provided more information from the start!" Boromir shouted, releasing Mel's hand to run his fingers through his hair in furious frustration, "How can you possibly expect us to make any sort of decision without being first properly informed?"

"I trust the Calenhiril to know her own mind, Boromir of Gondor," Gandalf bit out, clenching his staff in a white knuckled grip, "Perhaps you should do the same."

"Again, _right here!_ " Mel shouted, garnering angry glances from both of them, as if they were irritated that she had interrupted them, "And in case you hadn't noticed, I'm actually fine. I do kind of know what I'm doing, for the most part, I've been handling this stuff for a while now. I would have _preferred_ a little warning, of course-" She shot Gandalf a pointed glare that he effectively ignored, "-but I'm fine. No harm done."

"That isn't the point…" Boromir began.

"No, the _point_ is you don't think I'm smart enough to make my own decisions," Mel snapped, "And I don't appreciate it, just by the way."

Boromir gaped at her.

"I… That's not… I didn't…"

Mel huffed and spun away from him, adjusting the strap of her pack with a sharp tug.

"So, the Withywindle?" she said with forced cheeriness, raising an eyebrow at Gandalf, "It's this way, right?"

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and plunged into the trees, using their whispers to guide her in the right direction. After a moment, she heard the other two follow after her, muttering amongst themselves. Mel ignored them, steeling herself against the irritation bubbling inside her as she clambered over tree roots and ducked under low-hanging branches, determined to keep firmly ahead. She was the leader of this damn quest, and by god she was going to _lead_!

But despite her best efforts, it was only a matter of minutes before Boromir caught up, striding silently beside her, matching her pace through all the terrain she could throw at him.

"Melody, wait," he said finally, reaching out to grab her elbow, but Mel snatched her arm out of his grasp.

"What?" she snapped, trying not to let on how out of breath she was.

Boromir's hand hung in the air for a moment before he lowered it back to his side.

"I did not mean to make you think I don't find you capable."

"Really? Because you did a damn fine job."

"And I am sorry for that," he said, unperturbed, "But I assure you, it was not my intent. You are _more_ than capable and if anyone is going to succeed at this task it will be you, because you don't know how to fail."

Mel crossed her arms, waiting. Boromir dropped his eyes and dug at a layer of fallen leaves with his boot.

"That is what frightens me most, Melody," he said, "You are absolutely incapable of admitting defeat. I know you haven't forgotten what happened with the Sentries during the siege on Minas Tirith."

Mel balked and stumbled back a step.

"No," she rasped, swallowing to clear her throat, "No, of course I haven't, why... why would you _say_ something like that?"

"Only to remind you of your limits," Boromir said gently, reaching out to touch her arm, "You would have given your life for them, without question, without a single thought to the consequences. If Gandalf had not brought you back from that brink, I would have lost you on the walls of my city that night. I _did_ lose you, however briefly, on the fields of the Morannon because you would not ask for my help. And it nearly destroyed me, _would_ have destroyed me, as surely as I am living now."

He took a step closer and Mel didn't pull away.

"Is it really so surprising that I fear this will take you from me, as it has tried to take you so many times before? That I do everything in my power to prevent it? I have sworn to protect you, Melody, with my dying breath if need be, because I cannot lose you again. I _will_ not. I do not question the things we face because I think you incapable of the task, but because I fear the task will ask more of you than _I_ am willing to give."

He pulled her in and Mel let him, her shoulders slumping as he bent to press his brow to hers.

"I'm sorry," she said, softly, "I'm an idiot."

He chuckled.

"You are strong and stubborn and I love you," he said, pulling back and resting his hands firmly on her shoulders, "And I _do_ trust you. But allow me to question what you will not, if only for my own peace of mind."

Mel nodded and he smiled, leaning down to press a warm kiss to her forehead.

A rustling in the undergrowth brought them both back to the present, Boromir resting a hand on his sword hilt. But it was only Gandalf, pushing aside a curtain of hanging moss and vines to raise an imperious eyebrow at them.

"If you've both quite finished," he said, gruffly but not unkindly, "The river is this way."

He dropped the curtain and disappeared from view once more. Mel looked up at Boromir and rolled her eyes.

"Who's running this quest anyway?" she asked jokingly.

"You are," Boromir replied with a decisive nod, "But every quest has need of a navigator."

"I was navigating just fine!" Mel said indignantly as they pushed through the trees, following the brief glimpses of white in the shadows.

"Stumbling through the thickest part of the forest with no definitive direction and only a vague inkling of the destination?" Boromir asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

"I was going the right way," Mel assured him, "The trees told me I was."

"And now we are traveling along a path nearly perpendicular to the one you were traversing before," Boromir said lightly, a smirk still flickering at the corners of his mouth, "Did it occur to you that the trees might have lied?"

Mel jerked to a stop, and then gaped around her for a long, horrified minute. He was right. They were going in a completely different direction than the one the forest had been urging her along. She glanced up into the trees and heard laughter, not menacing but not exactly friendly either, echoing in her mind.

"Melody?"

Boromir had stopped a few paces ahead and was looking back at her, brow furrowed.

"They lied to me…" she said stupidly, still staring around at the laughing trees, "But… They've never _lied_ to me before…"

Boromir's expression softened into sympathy, and he reached for her hand, pulling her along behind him.

"Perhaps… Perhaps they are much like people," he said, after a moment, "Most are generally good, but some…" He shrugged, "Some just enjoy mischief."

"Yeah," Mel said, still staring absently around at the forest as if seeing it with new eyes, "I guess that makes sense. Especially in a forest that enjoys swallowing people whole."

"I had sincerely hoped that was a joke," Boromir said uneasily.

Mel grinned and squeezed his hand.

"Sorry, but no. Merry and Pippin very nearly didn't make it out of here."

Boromir shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Of course it would be them," he muttered fondly.

Gandalf popped up, very far ahead of them now, and tapped his staff impatiently on the ground.

"Come along now, keep up!" he shouted, before ducking back into the trees and out of sight.

Boromir grinned and tugged Mel along after the wizard.

"Tell me the story," he said.

Mel smiled and she did.

* * *

They came upon the Withywindle late in the afternoon ( _no thanks to the trees…_ Mel thought, giving the trunks around her a bitter look which they ignored), and stopped to have a short lunch and discuss their next move. The water was swift and shallow here, babbling just as the forest had described, the air around them calm and clean, fresh and light. Mel leaned back on her elbows, the breeze cool on her face, and watched the water run by, enjoying the way the sun sparkled off the ripples…

"What do you think, Melody?"

Mel jumped and nearly slipped off her elbows into the dirt, but she caught herself and looked up, dazed. Gandalf and Boromir were both staring at her expectantly and Mel tried to recall what exactly they had been talking about.

"Um, well, I think…" she said, stalling for time.

Boromir smirked.

"You weren't listening were you?"

"Of course, I was listening," Mel insisted, desperately searching her brain for anything that might even vaguely resemble the conversation the other two had been having right next to her, "I just… think… Gandalf is the expert here really, we should probably give what he has to say serious thought."

"She wasn't listening," Boromir said, looking back at Gandalf, who was trying to hide his own smile.

"To be fair," the wizard said, "The magic of this forest, the Withywindle in particular, is said to have a strong pull on those not accustomed to it."

"And yet, we both seemed to be faring considerably well," Boromir mused.

"That is true," Gandalf agreed, nodding sagely and tapping his pipe on his bottom lip, considering, "I have prior experience on my side, of course. Perhaps Mel's exposure to the magic of Yavannacor has made her more susceptible to-"

"Okay, I wasn't listening!" Mel admitted, shoving upright and hooking her arms around her knees, "I was zoned out and I wasn't listening, are you happy now?"

"Very," Boromir said, grinning.

"Immensely," Gandalf added, with a matching grin.

Mel glared at them both, but there was very little fire behind it and they both knew it. Finally she gave it up.

"Okay," she sighed grudgingly, "Fill me in, what's the plan?"

"We were discussing the merits of following the river," Gandalf said, "And if so, in which direction to travel."

"I suggested we go upstream and see where it take us," Boromir said, "It has been my experience that if you want to find something, you should start at the source," He shrugged, "It might not hold true here, but I see no reason not to try it."

"I, on the other hand, think perhaps we should remain here, at least for the time being," Gandalf said, "Eventually word will reach Tom of our presence and he is sure to investigate."

"But how long might that be?" Mel asked.

"That was exactly my question," Boromir agreed, beaming at Mel, "I do not care for remaining in one place longer than necessary, especially not after the tale you told earlier," He grimaced, "I am not a patient man anyway, and I certainly do not take well to the idea of sitting about, waiting to be swallowed up."

"That is incredibly unlikely," Gandalf said, waving a hand dismissively in Mel's direction, "The Calenhiril is far too important-"

"Not so important that the trees wouldn't lie to me," Mel interjected, glancing up into the branches hanging down around them, "They don't show the same respect that others have deferred to me. Respect must be earned in this forest, and I have done nothing yet to merit the courtesy."

"So you think we should follow the river?" Gandalf asked, quirking an eyebrow, "How do you know we aren't, in fact, walking _away_ from our goal, rather than towards it?"

"No, you're right, you're right," she said, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes and wracking her brain, trying to shake something lose, "What about… what about the rhyme?"

"Rhyme?" Boromir asked.

"Yeah, you know, I told you he spoke in rhyme a lot," Mel said, throwing her head back and searching the cloudless sky, as if the words might be hanging up there somewhere, "He gave the hobbits a rhyme, to call him if they needed him."

"I know he speaks often in rhymes and songs," Gandalf agreed doubtfully, "But if there is a rhyme to bring him when called, I do not know it. Tom Bombadil has always been a creature of his own mind."

"Well, I'm not sure I remember it _exactly_ ," Mel said, hesitantly, "It's been a long time, and I didn't actually memorize every line of the books."

"It cannot hurt to try, I suppose," Boromir said, "We will have lost nothing in the attempt."

Mel looked at Gandalf. The wizard shrugged and waved his pipe stem in her direction.

"If you think you can recall the words of this rhyme, Mel, by all means…"

She took a breath and pushed to her feet, brushing the grass and dirt off her pants. It didn't feel right, trying to call Tom sitting on the ground. She shut her eyes again, trying to reach back two lifetimes ago at least, sitting in bed, on the couch, on the bus, book in hand, reading Tolkien's words over and over, imprinting them on her brain. She recited the words in her head until she felt a rhythm forming, until she could feel the cadence in time with her heartbeat. She took another breath.

"Okay," she said, "Here goes."

Then she opened her mouth and yelled:

"Hey, Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!

By water, wood and hill, by weed and willow;

By fire, sun and moon, listen now and hear us!

Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!"

The words echoed across the woods and then there was silence. Mel opened her eyes, listening intently to the rustles of the trees and the babble of the water, straining for any hint of an answer. There was nothing. Mel sighed, disappointed. He wasn't going to answer the call. Boromir must have sensed it as well, because he echoed her sigh and rose to stand beside her.

"As I said," he reassured her, "We've lost nothing in the attempt. But it is getting late, perhaps we should make camp…"

And then she heard it. Blowing on the wind, a voice, a deep, joyful voice singing carelessly.

"Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow,

Bright blue his jacket is and his boots are yellow,

Out to gather lilies up for the River-Daughter,

Hey dol, merry dol, what is all the bother?"

The voice seemed to come from everywhere, but still Mel turned in a rapid circle, searching for the source. Boromir dropped to a crouch beside her, tense as a spring wound too tight, but Gandalf did not even bother to stand, only raising his eyebrows and glancing about with surprised interest. Mel saw Boromir's hand clenched on his sword hilt and she covered it firmly with her own. When he met her eyes she shook her head, a small gesture but one he understood. He removed his hand, but still kept it close to his side, twitching nervously. The voice started up a second verse, louder now, closer, but still echoing in the forest as if part of the wind itself.

"Fair lady calls to me, with her noble lover

'Dom bom, come Tom! Join us at the river!'

Fair though the lady be, her voice I've never heard

Even though she calls to me with familiar words

Hey dol! Merry dol! Ring a dong dillo!

How did you know to call Tom Bombadillo?"

When Tom Bombadil bounded out of the trees and into the sunlight, Mel was momentarily stunned. She had always imagined him as a big man, a giant. But actually he was not much taller than Boromir, though he was considerably stouter, built more like a dwarf with the height of a Man. He was wearing all the brightly-colored accoutrements his song had boasted and his red, jolly face was half-hidden beneath a bushy brown beard. He didn't seem upset by her call, but he did peer at her curiously for several seconds before he gave a booming laugh, hooking one large thumb into his belt (the other occupied with a bundle of water-lilies).

"Ah-ha, well then, that explains a bit!" he said, still speaking in a cadence vaguely reminiscent of his rhyming, "Calenhiril has come to us, and not a bit too soon! We've been waiting ages for you, Daughter of the Forest!"

Mel ducked her head, suddenly feeling a little shy.

"Sorry," she mumbled, "I... got a little distracted along the way."

Tom's eyes danced over her companions, resting for awhile on Boromir before breaking into a wide grin.

"So I see, so I see!" he said, "And you've brought the Maia with you too! How fairs it in the great wide world, Olórin? Still bickering pointlessly amongst yourselves?"

"There will be peace for a little while, my friend," Gandalf said, smiling pleasantly, "At least, that is my hope. My time is swiftly coming to an end."

Tom didn't seem upset by this at all, only nodding his head rather solemnly.

"Yes, I'd thought as much. You've been itching to return to the lands of Light since before you left. Come to say good-bye to old Tom before you go?"

"And perhaps to finish a small errand for some friends away East," Gandalf said, "You were friendly with the Ents once upon a time, were you not?"

Tom burst into a merry laugh.

"Aye, so that's it then," he said, glancing between Mel and Gandalf with twinkling eyes, "Thrown in with the trees and their sister! But come, we can talk it all over at home. My lilies will be wilting and my pretty lady will have a mind to see _you_ , at least, Forest-Daughter."

Mel jumped, her heart skipping in an irregular rhythm.

"Me?" she squeaked, "Wha… Why? Why _me_?"

"Well, you're cut from the same cloth, you two, a matched set!" Tom barked, as if it were hilariously obvious, "But you'll see for yourself soon enough! Come, come, follow Tom!"

And then, with far more fleetness than his size would have suggested, Tom bounded away, leaving the three companions to scramble furiously in his wake.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, before anyone yanks out their copy of Fellowship and points out that I messed up Tom's rhyme... I know ;) I'm working on the understanding that Mel really _didn't_ actually memorize every line of Lord of the Rings and so she might have flubbed a couple of the words. But the sentiment is the same, so I figure Tom probably thought, 'Close enough!' ;P Thank you guys again for all your kind words and encouragement, I hope to see you again next month!


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Hey, so guess what? I got a little extra time, so you get a new chapter before August! Hooray! :D Thank you all for your patience with me as I deal with NaNoWriMo this month, you guys have been champs :) Without further ado…

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

Trying to follow Tom Bombadil was like trying to follow a deer through the woods, catching only the barest glimpses of red, yellow, and blue through the underbrush. Gandalf easily outpaced his companions, something that surprised Mel but probably shouldn't have. Meanwhile, she was stuck scrambling and squirming through trees and bushes and vines that all seemed to delight in nothing more than getting in her way. Boromir's occasional grunts and disgruntled muttering let her know that he was having just as much trouble as she was, a strangely satisfying notion that made Mel even more determined to push on. At least in this, they were equals.

The sun was touching the tops of the trees with gold and pink when they burst from the forest into an open glade and slid to a stop. Or at least Mel and Boromir slid to a stop, awestruck surprise apparent on both their faces. It took a moment for Gandalf to realize his companions were no longer right on his heels, but finally he stopped, turning back and smiling fondly at the pair of them.

"It is quite something, isn't it?" he said, leaning on his staff and giving the wide view an appreciative nod, "I often forget what a marvel it is."

Mel couldn't answer him. She was too busy gaping. The fading light seemed only to accentuate the beauty of the rolling, green clearing, surrounded on all sides by tittering trees waving gently along the periphery of her vision. The Withywindle babbled delightedly beside them, along the edge of the glen and around the base of the hill sloping gently upward before them. A pathway of stepping stones wound its way haphazardly up the hillside, to what Mel could only describe as a sprawling cottage built into its summit. Warm light flickered from the many windows and, despite its homely, cozy appearance, it felt much grander than even the White Tower of Ecthelion, both small and impressively large.

Suddenly the door was flung open and more of that cheerful light poured out onto the pathway, silhouetting Tom Bombadil's stout form.

"Come now, my merry guests, come inside and take your rest!"

His insistence on rhyme was the one thing about him that was exactly as Mel had expected. She started to smile, but then faltered. Tom's earlier comment concerning her relation to Goldberry, instead of comforting her, seemed to have caused an inexplicable anxiety to take root in her chest. How could _Goldberry_ , the timeless being of grace that she remembered from her stories, be anything like her? Were they expecting something grand? Because Mel was anything but grand. She was simple and ordinary and...

… _you are different, Mel..._

The words floated into her mind like the echo of a ghost, a memory from a friendship that had barely had a chance to sprout before it was cut off by the larger workings of the world. Loriel. Loriel the servant girl, who had been so kind to her in Minas Tirith despite the rumors that had preceded her. Loriel had taught her that she was different, that she was special, and she had embraced it, embraced _her,_ and right now Mel missed her quiet, gentle confidence.

"Melody?"

Boromir's brow was creased in concern and Mel managed a shaky smile. His expression smoothed and he reached out to take her hand.

"I have your back," he said.

A knot loosened in Mel's neck and her smile spread into something a bit more genuine. She squeezed his hand.

"And I have yours."

He returned the pressure of her fingers for a few moments, and then gently tugged her toward the hill and the open door, inviting them onward. Gandalf was waiting for them, and he gestured inside with his white-clad arm.

"After you, Melody Calenhiril."

Mel took a breath and rolled her shoulders, working up the courage to finally let go of Boromir's hand. She could do this. She _needed_ to do this. But even as she released his fingers and stepped over the threshold, she could feel his presence behind her, giving her comfort and strength to move forward into the house.

It was like stepping into another world, and yet it was exactly as Mel might have envisioned it. The light they had seen in the windows came from candles and lamps scattered around the long room spread to either side, hundreds of flames dancing against the wood grain of the planks that lined the walls and floors. To the left was a long table, set with all kinds of platters and glasses that glittered and gleamed in the light, but Mel barely noticed these things. Her eyes were drawn to the right, pulled with an almost magnetic force by what she felt there.

A woman sat in a simple wooden chair against the far wall, bowls filled with water and floating lilies arrayed like children at her feet. She appeared small and slender, but Mel could feel the power inside her, lapping against her mind like waves, power that belied her size. Her face was both young and old, vibrant and wise, the face of an elf, but even more unknowable and mysterious. Her golden hair fell to her waist in waves and her bright blue eyes pierced Mel as few others had before. Mel could think of only two that had made her feel as exposed and vulnerable with just a glance: the Lady Galadriel, and the Warden Orodion of Gondor, whom she would likely never see again.

Goldberry smiled. It was like watching the sun rise from the ocean.

"Welcome, dearest travelers," she said and her voice was like music, like the sound of water glasses humming under the touch of a finger, "Please, come in."

Mel swallowed and took a step forward, thankful for the feel of Boromir at her back, always at her back.

"Thank you for welcoming us into your home," she said, trying not to let her voice tremble, "I am…"

"I know who you are, and I know why you have come," Goldberry said, her voice trilling with gleeful radiance, as if they had shared this marvelous secret, now revealed, "Did you think the daughter of the River would not recognize the daughter of the Forest. We are linked together, you and I, so it always was and so it always shall be."

Goldberry rose and danced lightly between the bowls of lilies on bare feet, her movements lithe and fluid, until she stood before them and clasped Mel's hands eagerly in her own.

"You are most welcome in my home, now and forever, Calenhiril," The River-Daughter said, "We have been waiting many long years for you."

It was as if all the nerves and doubts that Mel had felt were sucked out through her hands and dispelled into the air with those words. She was only herself. And Goldberry's smile told her that was enough. The nymph's dancing eyes lifted briefly from Mel's face and caught sight of Boromir, where Mel knew he hovered over her shoulder. Her radiant smile faded slightly, her smooth brow furrowed.

"This is your Chosen One?"

A weight fell on Mel's heart, a weight she didn't understand. She had never heard the phrase 'chosen one', but the words resonated with the truth of a gong blow. Boromir _was_ her Chosen One, she knew it the way she knew the sun would set and rise again. But what did that mean? For him? For her? Why did it feel as if it were more than what it sounded? She looked over her shoulder, but Boromir's eyes were held by Goldberry's, as if he were spellbound.

"Yes," she answered, her heart trembling but her voice steady, "He is my husband and protector. I love him."

Goldberry's expression did not lighten. She released one of Mel's hands and reached out to cup Boromir's face. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, a deferring gesture, like he was waiting for a verdict.

"A good man," Goldberry whispered, and Boromir's eyes flew open, surprised, he was _always_ so surprised, "A good heart."

Goldberry's smile lit her face again, as if some small worry had been mended and all was right once more with the world.

"You could have Chosen no better, Forest-Daughter," she declared decisively, dropping her hand and gripping both of Mel's once more, "Come! Dine with us and take your rest tonight. The dawn will bring fresh eyes and open hearts for seeking."

Before Mel could reply, Goldberry's eyes flitted past her shoulder once more and her expression lit with an almost childish glee.

"Olórin!"

Goldberry ran to embrace the old wizard with exuberance, just as Tom lumbered through the open door, hoisting an armload of dry wood for the fireplace on the other end of the hall, pausing to watch his wife's enthusiastic greeting of their guest with fondness.

Once the fire was crackling merrily in the hearth, they all took seats at the table for a supper of fruits and vegetables, bread and honey, and other things that Mel wasn't sure she could identify if asked. Tom and Goldberry's house exuded a sense of contentment that Mel had felt nowhere else, except perhaps in the little house in the Ithilien valley, before her quest was made clear, when she had thought she and Boromir might be allowed to remain forever, hidden from the world. But she didn't allow her mind to linger on that place, safe and tucked away, waiting for her, instead choosing to sit and smile and laugh, allowing weights that she hadn't even known she was carrying to dissipate.

Boromir didn't seem to be faring as well as she was though. He smiled often enough and in all the right places, but when Mel caught a glimpse of his unguarded expression, he seemed almost melancholy. Once, the expression was so mournful that she reached out and squeezed his knee. He jumped and stared at her as if he'd forgotten she was there. She smiled and leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched.

"Okay?" she asked, softly enough that she didn't think anyone would notice, (Gandalf was telling an old tale of his travels concerning Radagast, and Tom and Goldberry both seemed enraptured of it).

Boromir's eyes flicked briefly to their hosts, but he forced a small smile for Mel, covering her hand with his own much larger one.

"I am well enough."

Mel nodded and returned his forced smile. Something was wrong, Mel had felt it too, that inexplicable weight when Goldberry had looked at him. But he wasn't ready to talk about it yet. It was possible that he knew just as little about it as she did, that maybe it was something they would have to discover together. That was alright. They had survived so much, what was one thing more?

The evening wore on. Gandalf pulled out his pipe and amused them by blowing different colored smoke rings around the room in turns. Mel's eyelids began to droop and she dropped her head onto Boromir's shoulder, watching the colored smoke through blurry, sleep-filled eyes. Just as she thought she might not recover from her next blink, Goldberry touched her shoulder and Mel looked up toward the radiance of her face, like a flower turning its face to the sun.

"Come, Forest-Daughter," she murmured, her voice soft and gentle like the rippling of water on a still lake, "Take your rest. There is much yet you must do."

She and Boromir were led out of the main hall, down a dimly lit corridor and left in a small room. Barely thinking, Mel stretched out on the soft feather mattress laid into the far corner, not even bothering with the thin sheet or the quilt at the foot of the pallet. She felt, more than heard or saw, Boromir moving around the room for a few moments, her consciousness beginning to fade in and out. Finally, she heard him blow out the candle, felt him unfold the quilt and lay it gently over her, and then slide down to lay beside her. She shifted almost involuntarily, snuggling into his side and his arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her in tight. She sighed contentedly. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"I love you, Melody," he whispered, "No matter what may come. I love you."

Something in his voice reminded her of his melancholy expression at the table and she thought that maybe they should talk about it. But it was too late. Sleep had already grabbed her eyelids and wouldn't let go, dragging her ever deeper into the blank black until she was completely lost.

* * *

The next morning, Mel woke up and realized with a jolt that she was alone. She sat straight up in bed, instantly alert, and then relaxed. Boromir's sword was leaned against the wall, his boots standing guard beside them. He hadn't gone far. Her boots sat neatly beside his, but Mel couldn't remember having taken them off the night before. Boromir must have done it for her as she drifted in and out of sleep last night.

She smiled and stretched languidly. She felt more rested than she had in weeks, which was saying something since not long ago she had been sleeping in Rivendell. Of course, there had been the constant threat of discovery hanging over her in Rivendell. Here, in Tom Bombadil's house, she didn't have to pretend to be anything other than what she was. It was a relief until she realized that this was probably the last place on earth that would ever be possible for her again. Out there, beyond the borders of the Old Forest, she was Lindel. It wasn't so very different from who she was before (she'd even taken the name from the elvish translation that the Lady Galadriel had given her in Lothlorien), but still, it wasn't _Mel_ , it wasn't the person she had grown up as, that her mother and sisters knew. She was a different person here.

She pushed that thought away and rolled off the fluffy down pallet and onto her feet. Light was pouring in through the single window in the wall, and Mel could smell a green breeze ruffling the bright blue curtain that covered it. She had slept late.

She was digging in her bag for a brush to tame her wild hair, when the door to the room opened and Boromir padded in, barefoot, clad only in a pair of clean brown trousers and toweling at his hair, which hung in dark, wet strands around his shoulders. Mel paused and then leaned back on her elbows with an unapologetic smirk, watching the light glimmer on his damp sun-browned skin. Boromir turned to shut the door and only then seemed to notice her. He paused, his expression clearly puzzled for a moment, then realization seemed to dawn on him and a cheeky grin spread across his face as he ran the towel over his face.

"Good morning, Melody," he said, a hint of playfulness in his tone, despite his attempt to appear oblivious.

"Yes it is," Mel said, not bothering to move or hide the fact that she was ogling him.

"Our hosts have kindly offered us the use of their bathing chamber, just down the hall," he said, turning his back to her as he continued to run the towel through his hair, "It's fed by a hot spring running under the hill."

"Well, isn't that nice of them," Mel said, "You let me oversleep."

"You seemed tired," Boromir said, "I hated to wake you."

"I am never too tired for hot baths," Mel said, turning back to her bag and locating her brush along with a fresh set of clothes, "I would like you to keep that in mind next time you are offered a hot bath and have the option of going with or without me."

Boromir still had his back to her, but he jerked to a sudden halt, towel suspended in his hair. After a breath of pause, he finally looked back at her over his shoulder, his grin sharpened to an almost predatory gleam and his gray eyes sparkling. Mel raised an eyebrow, tossing her clothes over her shoulder.

"I'll just leave you to ponder the implications of that. I'm sure I can find my own way."

With that, Mel did her very best flounce right out of the room, shutting the door firmly in her husband's stunned face. Only then did she allow herself a very satisfied smirk.

The bath was easy to find, just down the hall as Boromir had said, and it was steamy and hot and heavenly on Mel's cramped up muscles. She sighed and sank deep into the water, letting it gurgle merrily around her. She shouldn't be this tense. She didn't remember things being this difficult with the Fellowship. Not after the first few weeks anyway. The first few weeks had been a horror.

She shuddered and reached for the soap laid out on the edge of the stone basin. She scrubbed every inch of her and washed her hair twice before she started to feel clean again. That was one thing she didn't know if she'd ever get used to, irregular bathing. She missed indoor plumbing probably more than anything else. Well, not _anything_ else. Her mom's smile and the twins' laughter echoed in her ears and she dunked her head under the water to drown it out.

She emerged from the bath clean, combed, and relatively content, only to discover that their room was once again missing one particularly handsome Gondorian. Dropping her brush and her towel, she padded back out into the hall, this time heading toward the smell of fresh bread. She left the dim corridor behind and stepped blinking into the bright sunlight flooding the front hall. Birds flitted in and out of the wide open windows, chirping cheerfully, and Goldberry sat at the table, feeding a little blue bird out of her hand. She looked up and grinned brightly.

"Calenhiril!" she exclaimed, tossing her hand gently into the air to send the bird on his way and gesturing to the table, "Come, break your fast with me!"

Mel smiled and took a seat, grabbing a slice of bread and spreading butter and honey on it. Goldberry eagerly filled her plate with berries and fruit from the bowls, and poured her a glass of milk.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked pleasantly.

"Yes, thank you, better than I have in a long time," Mel answered, taking a mouthful of bread.

"You have endured much, little one, too much," Goldberry said, her voice only slightly sobered by her words, "I hope that this journey may bring peace to your soul, if not to your broken heart."

… _orenyanil…_

Mel nearly choked as the unbidden word floated into her mind, but managed to swallow her mouthful and take a gulp of milk to help it down. Goldberry noticed her discomfort and offered a soothing smile.

"I feel your pain, Calenhiril, a deep pain, such that is not easily or quickly mended, at least not by our power."

"I'll be alright," Mel said, wondering if she should have said anything at all because she suddenly sounded small and unconvincing even in her own ears.

Goldberry smiled sadly and brushed her slender fingers through Mel's damp curls.

"I know, little one," she said gently, "I know you will."

The door opened with a bang and Mel jumped.

"Oh ho ho, the little tree-daughter wakes at last!" Tom boomed from the doorway, his red face broken into a huge grin, "Good, good, we've much to do today, much ground to cover, a lot of things to see and hear!"

Mel glanced through the open door as Tom bounded inside, Boromir following after.

"Where's Gandalf?" Mel asked, curiously.

"Oh, old Olórin comes and goes as he chooses!" Tom said, almost forcibly sitting Boromir down next to Mel with a friendly clap to the shoulder, "He'll be in and out and about as sure as the sun rises and the tides turn, don't you worry your little head about that! We've more important things to attend to, you and I! Eat up, little darling, and we'll be off!"

"Off?" Mel asked, even as she worked to shove more bread into her mouth.

"Off to find that which you seek," Goldberry said, as if the answer were obvious.

Mel nearly choked again and took another gulp of milk.

"The Entwives?" Boromir asked, sitting forward, hands pressing the table top with the force of his excitement, "You know where they are?"

Goldberry and Tom exchanged a quick, unreadable look.

"One of their number sought refuge with us," Goldberry answered, her eyes drifting back to Mel and squeezing her hand gently, "Many ages ago. We have kept her secret and waited patiently. But now it is time for her to see the light once more."

Mel was shoving the last of the bread in her mouth and gulping down the last of her milk. Today… she was going to find the Entwives _today!_ She had never hoped… never _dreamed_ that it would be this… well, easy! And now that it was within her grasp she wanted to run after it as fast as she could, afraid if she wasted even one unnecessary moment it would slip out of reach and be lost forever. Wiping the honey from her hands, she grabbed an apple and almost jumped to her feet.

"Okay, I'm ready, let's go," she said, trying not to sound breathless and not really succeeding.

Boromir rose to follow, but Goldberry laid a hand on his arm.

"Stay with me, Chosen One," she said, her eyes intensely focused, "I would speak with you awhile."

Boromir's jaw tightened.

"I will not leave her."

"The one she seeks has not had visitors since the day she came to us," Tom said, his large voice somehow soft and understanding, "She will not wish to be disturbed and the shock of any but the Calenhiril might cause her harm."

Mel could see an argument brewing in Boromir's eyes and she reached out to touch his shoulder.

"Hey," she said, smiling, "It's okay. Really, I'll be alright."

"I will protect her to my dying breath," Tom said, his eyes sharp and his fists planted firmly on his hips, "You have my word on it."

Boromir hesitated, but then finally nodded.

"Very well," he said, "If it's what you wish."

He reached out, took Mel's face in his hands, and kissed her soundly. Mel nearly melted away, only her grip on his shirt keeping her from dropping to the floor in a heap. She loved him so much, and she didn't want to leave him, to face whatever was waiting for her alone. But if Tom and Goldberry said it must be so, then she believed them. He pressed his forehead to hers for a moment after the kiss ended, just breathing the same air in calm, gentle breaths.

"I'll be okay," she whispered again, not really sure if she was reassuring Boromir, or herself.

"I know," he whispered back, finally opening his eyes and smiling gently at her, his gray eyes soft, "I know."

Mel nodded and Boromir released her, but she could feel the reluctance in the gesture. Tom stood by the open door, his eyes sparkling with kindness and merriment.

"Come little forest-lady," he said gently, but jovially.

Mel grabbed her cloak from Tom's hand and threw it over her shoulders, the excitement building in her blood again. She glanced back one last time, saw Boromir still standing by the table, the soft smile playing on his lips, but there was something sad in his eyes, lingering underneath the fondness. And Goldberry was staring at him with an expression that could only be described as sympathy. Mel felt the impulse to hang back, to wait, to ask why they both suddenly looked as if something terrible had happened. Or was about to. But then Tom's voice echoed up from the bottom of the hill.

"Come and quickly forest-lass, or the light we'll lose and fast!"

So Mel turned away, running down the hill after Tom's huge but bounding figure, following his merry laughter into the surrounding trees.

* * *

The door shut behind her. Boromir and Goldberry were alone.

He turned and met the River-Daughter's eyes. Though her smile was gone, her face had lost none of its radiance.

"Sit, Chosen One."

Her voice was gentle, like someone about to give bad news. Boromir sat despite himself. The weight he had felt on his heart since he'd entered this house grew heavier. Goldberry settled next to him, her every move a picture of grace and beauty, like light flickering and shining on water.

"You love her very much," she said, folding herself onto the bench at his side, one dainty, naked foot swinging carelessly above the floor, "I spoke truth when I said she could have chosen no better."

"Then why do you look at me with such sadness, my lady?"

The words escaped him before he could put thought to them. Goldberry's lips twitched in a half smile.

"I think you know, Son of Gondor."

His heart felt like lead in his chest.

"I have… suspicions," he admitted, "I have not allowed myself to think on them before now."

Goldberry reached across the space between them to cover his callused hand with her soft, smooth one.

"I was fortunate in my Chosen love," she whispered, "We will spend our long eternities together in this house until the world changes and we are no longer welcome in it. And then we will pass on to the next world together and live on, never to bear the burden of parting. I grieve for those whose good fortune is less than my own."

Boromir's hand twitched under her touch and he balled both hands into fists.

"I will not leave her," he repeated through clenched teeth.

Goldberry sighed.

"The day will come, dear child of Men, when you will no longer have that choice," she said, "All things must end, Chosen One. Even you."

He closed his eyes and fought away the tears that threatened to burn through his lids. The power of the Yavannacor was strange and unfathomable and it ran deep in Melody. He had seen the effects of that bond. He had feared its consequences. And he knew he was helpless in the wake of its power over her.

Goldberry's hand squeezed his clenched fist and when he looked up she was smiling again.

"Still," she said, a bit of that childish delight slipping into her tone, "I do not think you should despair quite yet. You have gained favor with those who call us kin, and your devotion and courage will not be forgotten. Even now there is hope and joy and love beyond measure to be found in the life that lies before you. It has already begun, though neither of you have yet seen it."

There was a glimmer in her smile, a hint of playful mischief that lifted the weight on Boromir's heart just a little. If even in this sadness, this despair, Goldberry could find some flicker of hope, he would cling to it. He would cling to it until he lost all strength, and even then, he would not let go. He would make them pry it from the fingers of his cold, dead corpse.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

Mel scrambled to keep up with Tom Bombadil, following the blur of his colorful outfit through the trees: flashes of blue coat, a glimpse of yellow boots, the fluttering of the feather in his wide brimmed hat. He could have easily outpaced her in the undergrowth and been gone forever, leaving her stranded and hopelessly lost. But Mel suspected he was purposely staying within her line of sight, and even if she lost him for a moment, she could still hear his laugh and nonsense rhymes echoing through the forest.

The sun was reaching its highest point in the sky when Tom turned into an impossibly dense pocket of greenery and disappeared. Mel slid to a stop just outside the thicket and stared, helplessly, hesitating. Something about this place… it didn't feel right. It felt old and unnatural and unpleasant, the most unwelcoming place Mel thought she had ever been. If she had come on her own, she would have given this spot a particularly wide berth and might not have even realized she'd done it. She shivered and took a step back. After a few seconds, Tom's head popped back out, his grin wide and bright in the sunshine.

"Don't be afraid, little Forest-Daughter," he said jovially, "They will warm to you, once you've met the one they guard. Very attached they are and she's not much for visitors, but she'll be wanting to see _you_ , make no mistake. Come, come, little one, come and follow Tom!"

He disappeared again into the gloom. Mel hesitated, reaching out with her mind to the entities lingering within that darkness. None of them seemed very keen on talking, not even to her. They served a power much older than she was, and they were loyal. Mel squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and dived head first into the underbrush.

The sun disappeared, leaving only the faint light that managed to filter through the blanket of branches and leaves to light her way. The dark seemed to swallow her up the farther in she pushed. A thick green smell filled her nose and felt heavy in her chest, and the damp sent a chill to her skin despite her cloak. It felt very much like wallowing through green mud.

"Press on, little one, not much further now," Tom's voice echoed back to her.

Mel pushed forward, feeling completely blind for the first time since she'd started following Tom. The wet, heavy air was suffocating and she could hear the trees now, all around her, muttering and whispering threateningly, swaying in a breeze that did not exist, creaking all around her. Mel held her breath and kept going, almost swimming through branches and vines and patches of stringy moss, all the while straining to hear Tom's sing-song voice in the murk.

"Come, little forest-girl, come Forest-Daughter! Tom will not leave you here, drowning with no water. Just a little further now, just a little way…"

Mel fell through a curtain of vines that was much less deep than it looked and hit her knees in a small patch of soft, green grass, gasping for air. A large hand smoothed along her back as she sucked in air that finally didn't feel as if it was going to smother her.

"There, there, little one, you did very well," Tom rumbled, "You did very well indeed and now you'll see your prize."

Mel managed to catch her breath and look around properly for the first time. They were in a little glen, shadowed in gloom and surround on all sides by darkness. Mel found it strange that anything was able to grow at all, but grow it did, tender shoots of green grass pushing through the damp earth between her fingers, delicate tendrils of plants drooping over each other, as if fighting over what little light that could be spared. A tiny trickle of water flowed along the far edge of the clearing, nearly choked off by thick water plants, but flowing all the same. A mass of twisted limbs tangled together at the edge of the water, twisting in on itself until it almost didn't look like a tree anymore, half sunk into the soft earth by the side of the water.

Mel slowly got to her feet, wiping her hands on her pants and squinting into the gloom. Tom stood with his thumbs hooked into his belt, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, but Mel was failing to see why. There wasn't anything here that looked even remotely helpful.

"Tom, I…"

She froze, the words stuck in her throat. The tree… the mess of twisted limbs and knotted bark, the thing that she had barely thought _could_ be a tree… the tree had moved.

It had been a sound more than movement that had caught her attention, a strained creaking, almost cracking sound, the sound of stiff, dead wood that was trying to bend. But the limbs on the poor creature had shuddered and the few leaves that remained on the nearly barren branches rattled, catching her eye as well as her ear. Mel stared, but there was no other movement, no other indication. She glanced back at Tom. He smiled gently and gave a soft nod in that direction.

"Be slow," he murmured kindly, "She's had no visitors but us since she came to these parts in a far Age of Men."

A lump formed in Mel's throat. Her tongue was like cotton in her mouth. She looked back at the tangled mass of bark and limbs. It… _She…_ She didn't look like a tree. She didn't look like… well, _anything._ Mel took a single, cautious step forward. No movement. Mel steeled her nerves and took another step. And another. Slowly, with careful, calculated steps, she crept closer and details started to reveal themselves. Long limbs that might have once been lithe and graceful, but were now broken and healed in twisted knots, marring the lines of the thin trunk. Bark, a thin dull gray that might have once been silver, peeling away from score-marks cut deep into the flesh of the wood and ugly black burns that licked along the cuts, making the growth of new skin impossible, open wounds covered as best as could be by the twisting of the trunk all about itself, the limbs layered together in a protective covering.

Mel pulled up short. If she stretched out her arm, her fingertips would come barely an inch from brushing the nearest end of a withered branch. Nothing moved. Mel bit her lip and pondered her next step very carefully. She wanted to help her, more than anything. It tugged on her soul to see such misery. But she also didn't want to push or damage her in any way. While she was thinking, a shudder passed through the twisted limbs again, rattling the dry branches, followed by a loud crack that made Mel wince in sympathetic pain. The tree twisted slightly and Mel reached out her hand on impulse.

"No, please…" she gasped.

But it was already done. The trunk untwisted itself, bending and creaking, and in a bare patch, scored by three marks that looked to have been made with claws, a single silver eye slid open.

Mel nearly stumbled back, her stomach lurching. It had been almost impossible to distinguish a face beneath the disfigurement before, but now she could see it clearly, riddled with burns and rips in the wood, a black pockmark where another eye should have been. Mel pressed her hand to her mouth, afraid that she might be sick, and took a deep breath in through her nose.

"Oh…" she breathed when she finally felt she could speak, "Oh you sweet, beautiful thing… What have they done to you?"

The words took much longer to say than they should have. Mel's shock had caused her to slip into Old Entish. When the phrases were finally spoken, echoed on the air in creaks and rustles that should have been impossible for the human voice, the entwife rustled and settled once more. Then she did what none of the Ents had ever done. She spoke to Mel's mind.

" _So…"_ she sighed, _"You have come at last. And you bring with you the music of the old language. How I have missed its melodies."_

The voice in her head was light and airy, but also old and powerful, and Mel felt a strong kinship to that voice, something achingly familiar. This… This was her sister. This was her family.

"I've come to take you home," Mel said, not bothering to translate what she said, instead letting the Old Entish flow freely from her tongue.

The entwife sighed in her mind.

" _Yes…"_ she whispered, _"Home. How I have longed for it. To wander the paths of my youth with the one that I love and have been parted from for far too long."_

"Let me help you," Mel said, taking a step and reaching out her hand…

" _ **No."**_

Mel jerked back as if she'd been slapped away. The entwife's voice had been strong and insistent and she had creaked and tugged her limbs in tighter, as if to cover herself, to protect herself.

"Please," Mel pleaded, "Please, let me help you. It's why I'm here."

"Mother?"

Mel whirled around so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. There was a shape in the dark shadows of the trees, barely an outline. Tom was sitting in the grass to the side, staring into the darkness, but he didn't seem afraid or surprised. After a beat, the shape slid out of the shadow and into the dim light of the clearing. Mel nearly stopped breathing.

"Mother? What's going on?"

The voice was that of an adolescent girl. In truth, she sounded close to the same age as Mel's sisters, but there was no way to be sure. Not if she was really seeing what she thought she was seeing. The girl was crouched into a semi-defensive stance on long limbs built of green, supple tendons that bunched and twisted into two flat masses of tendrils, spread out and woven together to serve as feet. Her tall, slender body was tensed and the bits of vine and leaf that curled around her twitched and convulsed with nervous energy. Patches of bark-like skin covered her torso and shoulders, and her arms were twisted sinewy branches that ended in several long appendages that curled and uncurled reflexively. Her face was ingrained in the lines of green wood that made up her body and her eyes were stormy and dark as she glared at Mel, her mossy, gray hair blowing gently over her features.

"What is this?" the girl demanded, her voice hard, like the splitting of a log against an axe. She whirled toward Tom, who still sat in the grass, apparently unruffled by this sudden turn of events, "Tom, what is going on? Who is this?"

"My name is Mel," Mel blurted out, "I'm here to help."

"Who said we needed help?" the girl snapped, whipping her head toward Mel and taking a menacing step, "What are you doing in our forest? This place is protected!"

"Peace, little one, I brought her here," Tom said, his hands busy braiding a strand of rope in his lap and still looking supremely unconcerned, "Do you think I would allow anyone if they weren't welcome?"

The girl glared down at him, but she didn't argue the point. Instead she turned those glittering eyes back to Mel. Mel nearly stumbled under the power in that gaze. It was so vibrant, so _young_. She could feel the energy pulsing beneath it, like a green strobe light in her mind.

"My god…" Mel whispered, "She's…"

" _My daughter,"_ the old entwife said, with a sort of weary fondness. The girl's head jerked at the same time Mel's did. She could hear the entwife too.

"An enting…" Mel whispered, awed. No one had seen an enting. No one had even _spoken_ of an enting.

" _Very likely the last enting,"_ the entwife said, sadly.

"There are no more of you?" Mel asked, turning back to the old, withered entwife, "No others escaped?"

" _Many escaped,"_ the entwife said, _"No others survived."_

Mel had a flash of the pain and horror of the petrified corpse in the forest, and she flinched against the screams she could still hear in her mind. She shut it out quickly, afraid that it might spill onto the entwife. She had come to heal her pain, not bring more.

"You can hear her?"

Mel turned back to the girl, the enting. She was watching her with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"That's impossible," the girl said before Mel could reply, "No one else can hear her. Even Goldberry can't hear her."

"I am not Goldberry," Mel said, "I am like her, but I am not a river spirit."

"What are you then?" the girl asked, unconvinced, "What could you possibly be?"

"I am Calenhiril."

The girl scoffed and rolled her eyes. Mel was taken aback by that, genuinely surprised.

"That's just a story," the girl said, irritated, "A bedtime tale Mother made up to keep me from crying at night. Calenhiril doesn't exist."

" **And yet here I stand."**

Mel hadn't necessarily meant to draw on the power of the forest. It had just happened, the Yavannacor pulsing on her finger, pressing power into her voice, rustling through the trees like a sudden wind gust.

The girl jerked back and scanned the trees with eyes that spoke of too long spent in hiding. Once the power passed though, she met Mel's gaze again and raised… well, Mel would have said she raised an eyebrow, but she didn't really have eyebrows. A smirk most definitely graced the line of her mouth though.

"That's quite a trick."

Mel huffed a little laugh.

"You could say that. What's your name?"

" _Galith,"_ the old entwife spoke, _"For she was my light that sprung from the ashes."_

Mel nodded in the girl's direction, a gesture that was returned, albeit grudgingly.

"And you, sister?" Mel asked, turning back to the entwife, "By what name are you known?"

" _I was known by many, at one time. But the elves under the light of the stars, they named me Fimbrethil, and Wandlimb was the name my love once called me in the dark of the forest when the trees were deep and the nights long."_

Mel felt as if she'd been punched in the gut. Fimbrethil… Wandlimb…

"Oh, sister," Mel whispered, smiling despite the intense sadness she felt in her soul, "I know someone who's been looking for you a long time."

"Well they never came did they?" Galith said bitterly, "No one ever came."

" _Hush, little one,"_ Fimbrethil said soothingly, _"We did not make it easy for them."_

"Why?" Mel asked, curiosity overriding everything else, "Why did you hide? Why so long?"

" _I was afraid,"_ Fimbrethil answered, matter of fact, _"Evil is a constant roaming presence within the world. I was touched by its darkness. I did not wish that darkness to touch what was most precious to me."_

Galith flinched, almost imperceptibly. Mel could feel it, but she pretended not to notice.

" _So I found this place and the ones you call Tom Bombadil and Goldberry. They agreed to be my refuge. But a promise was given, to me and to all that fled out of the flames of our lives. That one day our little sister, Calenhiril, would come, to lead us out of this darkness and back into the light. And now you have come. I am glad that I was able to see it myself."_

"Of course you were, don't be silly," Galith snapped, but there was an undercurrent to her tone, a hint of long unrealized fear.

Mel let her eyes travel back and forth between the enting girl and the entwife. And she felt a sliver of that cold fear slip into her heart.

"Let me help you, Wandlimb," she said again, holding out a hand toward the twisted branches, "Let me ease your pain a little. It might be a long process until you are well enough to travel, but with a little time…"

" _No,"_ the entwife repeated, shuddering and pulling herself in marginally, _"The light is not mine to have. I have lived too long in darkness."_

"Mother, don't be stubborn," Galith said, taking a long, lithe step forward, a hint of desperation under her tone of irritation, "If this Calenhiril can make you well, then let her!"

" _She cannot make me well, child,"_ Fimbrethil said, halting her daughter's advance, _"She clings to desperate hope, as you do. But it would be too much for her to heal the wounds of my body. Even the Calenhiril's power is not limitless."_

"At least let me try!" Mel insisted, feeling a bit of Galith's distress creep into her own voice and trying to force it down, "How do I know unless you let me try?"

" _I see your heart, Calenhiril,"_ Wandlimb said, with gentle fondness, _"You mean well, and act out of kindness and compassion. But if I allowed you even this, you would not be able to stop yourself. You do not acknowledge the limits of your own power and that makes you dangerous, to yourself as well as to your enemies. Tell me it is not so."_

Mel opened her mouth to protest, but the words of Boromir echoed back to her in her mind.

… _you don't know how to fail. That is what frightens me most…_

Mel clenched her fists at her side and said nothing. A light chuckle echoed in her mind.

" _And if I were to allow this, who would be left to show my daughter the way?"_

"What?" Galith said, suddenly stiff and straight, "I'm not going anywhere!"

Wandlimb ignored her daughter's protests and Mel felt as if she were drowning. This… This wasn't what she had come for. She wasn't prepared for this.

" _I presume her father is still hale?"_

Mel shook her head to clear it.

"Her father?"

The entwife sighed, a sad, longing sigh that rustled her branches and made her bark creak and snap.

" _Fangorn…"_ she whispered, _"The one that I love and sing for through the long days and nights. He yet lives in the forests of our youth?"_

"Yes," Mel said, finally bringing herself back, "Yes, of course. He asked me to find you."

" _Good,"_ the entwife said decisively, _"You will take her to her father. He can care for her as I am no longer able."_

"I can care for myself!" Galith snapped, striding forward and putting both her leafy green hands on the twisted trunk, "Now stop this talk, stop it right this instant!"

The entwife chuckled fondly.

 _"Listen to her. So hasty, so eager to disobey her mother."_

"Only because you are being unreasonable!" Galith said, dismay and anger turning her voice into a high pitched shout, "Who will care for you if I am not here?"

" _If you are not here, my precious one, I will not need to be cared for any longer."_

The certainty and finality of those words froze everyone. Mel took a step back, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She shouldn't be here, not for this. This was not at all what she had planned. This was not how it was supposed to happen. This was… This was wrong.

Galith shuddered and her long finger-like limbs wrapped themselves tightly around the limbs of the entwife.

"I want to stay here… with you."

Her voice was quiet and broken and very young. Mel could feel Wandlimb sigh in her mind and a small branch with a single sprig of leaves reached out and brushed tenderly against the enting's face.

" _That is not true, my little wanderer,"_ Fimbrethil whispered, _"Since you uprooted from the earth where I planted you, you have not stopped moving. Your heart longs for that which was promised to you."_

"But I always come back!" Galith insisted, and Mel could hear tears in her voice, "No matter where I go, or how far, I always come home to you, always!"

" _I know, little one,"_ Wandlimb said, _"But now it is time that you found your own home. It is waiting for you, somewhere out in the world. It is calling you, in your heart, you can feel it. You will know it the moment your roots touch its earth and your leaves feel its breeze. You will know that it is yours. And you will find me there. But I cannot go with you now. You know this. Some part of you has always known it."_

Galith let out a chest-heaving sob, her face pressed to the bark of the entwife, covering the half-scarred face.

"Mother, please," she sobbed, "Please, I'm afraid."

" _You need not fear,"_ Wandlimb assured her, _"Mourn, yes, but you need not fear. Not while Calenhiril is with you. She will show you the way."_

Mel had never felt less worthy of her title, or the confidence that was placed in it.

"I'll do everything in my power to keep her safe," Mel said, softly, gently, feeling frightened herself, "You have my word."

She felt the entwife's acknowledgement of this, though there was no outward sign of it.

" _Good,"_ she said, her words only a sigh in Mel's mind, _"I have kept her safe and helped her grow. Now I may pass that on to another I trust, as my Mother has trusted. She will be safe… You will be safe… I am so tired…"_

Mel could feel her slipping away. It was a familiar feeling, but it took Mel a moment to place it. It felt like when little Birch in Rivendell had finally fallen asleep last winter, a peaceful fading of consciousness, until…

Galith could feel it too. She jerked upright and her grip on Wandlimb's branches grew taut and frantic.

"Mother?" she said, in despair and scrambling terror, "Mother, wait, don't…"

Wandlimb hummed in Mel's mind, settling further into that peaceful silence.

" _Safe…"_ she murmured, _"Safe and loved… love… Fangorn… my love…"_

"Mother?" Galith shouted, gripping her limbs so fiercely that Mel winced.

Wandlimb roused herself one last time, her voice barely more than a sigh.

" _Galith… my Galith… my light…"_

"MOTHER!" Galith shrieked.

But Fimbrethil was gone.

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh god, you guys are gonna kill me... _*ducks*_


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** Hey guys! Sorry I disappeared for a while; I went on vacation and when I got back, I'd forgotten how to word! ;P But I'm here now and hoping to get back into the habit of posting at least one chapter a week again. Now that I have the first draft of this story completely finished (YAY!) it should be a little easier to do (hopefully). So let's get on with it, and thank you guys again for your patience!

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen**

Galith did not cry. Mel wondered briefly if it was even possible for ents to cry, but quickly pushed the thought away. Once Wandlimb had passed into sleep, Galith stood for several long moments with her long, sinewy arms wrapped tight around her mother. Mel did not dare touch either of them. She did not even dare to move. She just waited, hoping that at some point she would know what she was supposed to do. Galith's stiff form finally relaxed and she slid to the ground, legs curling beneath her, her body folding neatly as she settled in the earth. Then softly, she began to sing.

Mel recognized the Old Entish immediately, though she suspected the words were untranslatable in any of the many tongues of Middle-Earth. More importantly she could _feel_ the music reverberating through her, a song of loss, of mourning, of loneliness and despair. Mel sank to her knees beside the enting and closed her eyes, letting the song wash over her.

The mourning song lasted for several days. When it became clear that Mel had no intention of leaving Galith's side, she heard Tom Bombadil slip away. When he came back he brought Boromir with him. Apparently the situation had been explained well enough because he said nothing, only settled himself at Mel's side and waited: pressing bits of bread or fruit into her hand at regular intervals, bringing her water from the little stream, lending his shoulder for her to doze against when she could no longer stay awake.

Tom and Goldberry made several appearances, never speaking, only sitting reverently within the gloom of the little clearing, paying respects to an old friend. But Galith did not acknowledge any of them. The enting girl sat gracefully curled at her mother's roots, never tiring, never pausing for food or drink. She only sang, the sad, slow tune of a people she had never known.

When the last notes faded, there was a gentle silence that remained unbroken for a long while. Finally, the enting rose and looked down at Mel, acknowledging her presence for the first time since the loss of her mother.

"I make no promises, Calenhiril," she said, her voice soft and resigned, "But I will think on what my mother has said. Until we meet again."

And before Mel could remember how to make her mouth form words, Galith turned and strode purposefully out of the clearing. Mel blinked after her for several seconds, then tried to scramble to her feet, to go after her. She stumbled and Boromir caught her elbow.

"It's alright, Melody, it's alright," he soothed, holding her against his chest to sooth her weakened struggles, "We'll find her, rest easy for a moment."

"No, please, you don't understand," Mel rasped, her voice hoarse from disuse, "You don't understand, she's all that's left, we can't lose her, I promised…"

"I know, my love, I know," Boromir reassured her, "Tom and Goldberry explained. We won't lose her, I swear it."

"She won't leave the forest."

Tom's voice was as large as ever, but it was also gentle and kind. Mel looked desperately up into his smiling face.

"She's never been outside the Old Forest," Tom said, "This has been her home for an Age of Men, and there are many places she's familiar with. If she's to leave with you for parts unknown, I imagine she'll want to say farewell. She'll come back when she's ready."

"In the meantime you should rest, Calenhiril," That was the lyrical voice of Goldberry, appearing out of the gloom with smooth silent steps.

"I agree," Boromir said, wrapping an arm around her in both a supportive and protective gesture, "You've barely eaten or slept in days. You need to recover your strength."

Mel swallowed, forcing the lump of panic back down her throat. Galith wasn't gone forever. She just needed some time. And if she was waiting, there was no reason to do it sitting in this clearing. She could be resting and planning their next move back at Tom and Goldberry's house.

"Will she know where to find us?" she asked, looking at Tom.

"Aye, she knows the place well," Tom said, beaming, "She'll find us, right as rain."

Mel sighed and felt the last of her resistance slip from her grasp. She sagged into Boromir's hold.

"Alright," she said, sounding far more tired than she'd intended, "Alright. Let's go."

Mel didn't remember much about the walk back to the house. She was so tired she could barely keep her feet under her, but when Boromir offered to carry her, she refused. She needed to walk, to work some life back into her limbs again. Once they reached the house though, she gratefully sank down into the mattress and instantly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

When she woke it was still daylight, but she felt like she'd been asleep for a week. She stumbled down the hall to the steam baths and when she emerged she felt better, though still a little disoriented. She made her way to the front hall and found Goldberry sitting patiently, as if she had been just waiting for Mel to wake, with bread, honey, and fruit laid out on the table. The River-Daughter greeted her warmly and offered her a seat.

"How long was I out?" Mel asked, helping herself to some bread and honey.

"The sun has risen twice while you slept," Goldberry said, a small smile touching her lips as Mel choked, "Your Chosen one was starting to become anxious."

"Two days?" Mel squeaked, after she swallowed a gulp of milk, "No wonder I'm so hungry. Where is everybody?"

"Our Chosen are just outside, tilling the earth for next year's garden," Goldberry said, "We thought it best to keep him busy."

"What about Gandalf?" Mel asked, "Has he shown up yet?"

"There is no need to sound so skeptical, Melody Calenhiril," Gandalf said as he swept inside, "I have been here since yesterday, and only waiting for you."

"Your timing is impeccable as always, Olórin," Goldberry said with the tiniest smirk.

"A wizard is never late, nor is he early," Mel said, reaching for an apple, "He arrives precisely when he means to."

"Well said, my dear!" Gandalf exclaimed, sounding pleased.

"You would know, you said it first," Mel replied before biting into her apple and grinning at the blank look on Gandalf's face. It took a moment, but slowly Gandalf returned her grin, and then he chuckled.

"Indeed, indeed I did! Do you know I'd quite forgotten that? How my mind has wandered of late…"

"There is nothing wrong with your mind, Mithrandir, of that I have..."

Boromir's voice cut off as he paused halfway in the door, his eyes fixed on Mel. Then in a blink he was across the room, kneeling in front of her, his soil-covered hands running anxiously over her face and arms.

"Oh Melody, when did you wake? How long ago? You swore you would _tell_ me when she'd woken," he growled, leveling a narrow-eyed glare at Goldberry.

"Hey," Mel said, taking both his hands in hers and drawing his attention back, "Hey, it's okay. I'm okay."

She leaned forward, touching her forehead to his, and Boromir closed his eyes, taking a long, shaky breath. Mel took a breath too and they sat like that for several moments, just breathing together.

"I know," Boromir said finally, "I know that you are."

Mel sat up and kissed his forehead

"I'm sorry I scared you," she whispered.

Boromir nodded, his eyes open now, and touched her cheek, brushing his thumb under her eye.

"It's alright," he said, "I'm alright now."

Mel smiled slightly and leaned into his hand.

"Have we seen her?" she asked, "Has she come back?"

Boromir shook his head and dropped his hand, rising so that he could sit on the bench beside her.

"There is no sign yet. We keep our eyes on the forest and Tom has been visiting some of the places she's been known to wander. If she is about, she doesn't want to be found."

"She is good at that," Goldberry agreed, "She has spent much of her life staying out of sight. You might walk within two paces of her and never suspect."

The River-Daughter reached out and squeezed Mel's hand with an encouraging smile.

"She will make herself known when she is ready."

"I should be out looking for her," Mel said, pushing back and starting to rise, but Boromir put a hand on her shoulder, keeping her in her seat.

"You've only just woken," he said, "You should take things slowly."

"I can help," Mel insisted, "The trees might know..."

"The trees of this forest have been Galith's companions since she first pushed through the earth toward the sun," Goldberry said gently, "They are her playmates and protectors, her confidants. They will not betray her, even to you, Calenhiril."

Mel opened her mouth to protest, but stopped. The trees of the Old Forest _were_ different from the others she had encountered. They were the only trees to have actively tried to deceive her, to work against her rather than with her. She closed her mouth and sat back, hands clasped together in frustration.

"I should be doing something," she muttered, "I promised."

"I think perhaps the best thing to do is to be here, ready when she appears," Gandalf said, sitting himself at the table, a little tendril of smoke curling from his pipe, "There is still your return journey to plan, and with winter coming on…"

"We've traveled in winter before," Mel said.

Gandalf nodded.

"Quite right," he said, "And if luck holds, the Gap of Rohan may still be open to you. But it never hurts to be certain of your road."

Mel looked at Boromir.

"Gandalf is right," he said, running a hand through her hair, "Tom will continue the search as best he can, but there is little else we can do. We should be ready for the time when she returns to us."

Mel realized this was a battle she wasn't going to win. She sighed

"Alright," she said, "Where's the map?"

* * *

They poured over the map in Boromir's bag for most of that day, planning alternate routes in case of any number of scenarios. Mel had thought it would be difficult for her to sleep (considering she had done nothing else for two days), but to her surprise she was yawning not long after the sun had set. Boromir gently tugged her off to bed, and she was asleep in minutes.

The next day, Tom and Goldberry joined in the planning. Provisions were accounted for, and Tom volunteered himself to accompany them as far as the Barrow Downs. From there they would make their way to Bree (giving the town itself a wide berth to avoid undue attention) and make their way toward the valley of Imladris.

On the third day, Mel began to get restless. Well, honestly, she'd started getting restless the night before, but by the time the morning dawned, clear and bright and with a distinct chill in the air, she was hopelessly anxious, pacing the length of the long front hall.

"I want to see her," she announced finally, making everyone present raise their heads curiously, "I want to see Wandlimb. Can you take me?"

She directed this question to Tom Bombadil, but it was Boromir that answered.

"Melody, there is nothing there for us any longer," he said gently, "It is unlikely that the child will reappear there, especially if she doesn't wish to be found. I really think you should be resting…"

"I've been resting, I'm _rested_ already!" Mel exclaimed before she thought better of it and pulled back, taking a breath to calm her nerves, "There's something I wanted to do when I was there before, but… it just didn't seem right, to try in front of Galith. I don't think it's something she wants to see."

Boromir looked skeptical, but he clenched his jaw and refrained from speaking. Instead it was Gandalf who answered her.

"I'm not sure if it would be wise for you to wander too far, Mel," the wizard said, "The enting-girl could appear at any moment and it would be unfortunate if you were not present."

"I won't be long," Mel insisted, "I just want to see if there's anything I can do. Wandlimb still alive in there, even if she's sleeping, and I want to be sure she's not in any pain."

Mel shifted on her feet, feeling a little uncomfortable, but still the restlessness gnawed at her. She needed out of this house.

"I promise, I won't overreach," she said, directing her gaze to Boromir again, knowing that was what bothered him most, "She wouldn't want me to. But it took me so long to get here, it's the least I can do…"

Boromir's eyes dropped and Mel realized that, without meaning to, she'd struck a nerve. Honestly, Mel didn't think her meeting him and sidetracking onto the Ringbearer's quest had made any real difference in the grand scheme of things, but she knew he would feel that guilt regardless, his life plagued by a constant whirl of what-ifs. Mel put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently until he looked up at her.

"I didn't mean it like that," she said, "I just meant that I came here to help her, and since I can't take her with me, the least I can do is ease her pain. She's more than earned it."

Boromir hesitated.

"You're right," he said finally, covering her hand with his, "She deserves whatever comfort you can offer her. If you think you can help her, Melody, then you should go."

Mel grinned and leaned down to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you."

Tom stood and grabbed his floppy hat from the table, bending to peck a kiss to Goldberry's cheek before settling the hat firmly on his head.

"Come on then, forest girl, let's go," he said, his jolly smile firmly in place.

Mel gave Boromir's shoulder one final squeeze and then ran out the door after the much larger man. She thought she might be getting used to Tom Bombadil's bounding movements, finding it easier and easier to keep up through the trees and underbrush, and they reached the entwife's grove much more quickly than she remembered last time. Tom paused just out of reach of the nearest boughs.

"I will leave you here for a little while, Forest-Daughter," he said, "There are places still to search for the little one, and my lady's lilies are in need of replacements."

Mel nodded, her eyes now fixed on the seemingly impenetrable curtain of green in front of her.

"Take as long as you need, Tom," she said, hesitantly pressing a palm to one of the dark trunks, "I'm not going anywhere."

There was a moment of hesitation, then Mel heard Tom walk away. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and plunged into the grove of trees before her, attempting to understand what she was feeling. They didn't speak to her, but they were different now. She didn't feel that same suffocating sense of menace and unwelcome. Now there was only a sadness hanging over everything, a resignation that dripped from every branch, blowing through the moss on the breeze. Mel opened her eyes and eased through the grove of guardians until she stood in the dim light of the clearing, taking a deep breath in through her nose. The air felt less heavy in her lungs, more natural. The stream gurgled, babble subdued but not oppressed. The changes were almost indefinable and Mel wondered if anyone else would have even noticed the difference.

She approached the silent entwife, twisted and still in the soft soil by the stream bank, and reached out gently with her mind. She could feel a faint flickering where her life still pulsed on, but there was nothing else. Mel steeled her nerves and reached out her hand, brushing her fingers against the twisted trunk. A chunk of brittle gray bark broke off beneath her touch and Mel jerked back. But there was no response, no indication that anything had been felt. Mel hesitated, then gently pressed her hand to a blackened portion of trunk with no bark to dislodge. Nothing. She let out a breath, closed her eyes, and dug deep, delving down toward that light she could _feel,_ more than see, pulsing at the heart of the entwife. She reached inside herself for her own light and touched the two together. Little pathways of brilliance burst behind her eyes, thin, zigzagging patterns that crisscrossed the network of limbs and branches and roots…

Or at least, they should have. But when Mel followed the lines of light, everywhere she turned were dead ends, black voids where life should have glowed, everything dark as if it had been cut off. She couldn't reach any of the injuries she knew were there, could not touch any of them with her power. Her brow furrowed in concentration and she pressed further, deeper, eventually gathering back into the center of the light and probing for any hint of unease, disturbance, or pain. All she felt was the peaceful pulse of energy, like a gentle heartbeat.

"Can you help her?"

Mel jumped and jerked back, nearly tripping over a tangle of water plants. Galith was crouched just a few feet away, one hand touching the earth, almost caressing it. Her dark eyes burned into Mel with such intensity that she started to feel short of breath. She dropped her gaze and looked back at the immobile entwife.

"She doesn't need my help," Mel said quietly, her heart hammering in her chest, "She's sleeping peacefully, safe and content."

"Then why are you here?"

The girl's voice held just a hint of sharpness, but Mel ignored it.

"I wanted to be sure," she said, reaching out to run a finger along the line of one of the score marks, "It's the least I could do. She deserved better."

There was a moment of silence, the wind rustling the leaves of the grove.

"She spoke of him sometimes," the girl said, finally, "My father."

Mel looked back at the enting. Her face had dropped and she was drawing what looked to be meaningless patterns in the sparse grasses.

"She always sang this song, in the Old tongue, almost a lullaby. I didn't understand what it meant for the longest time."

The girl closed her eyes and softly recited:

"Together we will take the road,

That leads into the West.

And far away will find a land,

Where both our hearts may rest."

She did not say it in Old Entish, but it was beautiful all the same, her voice coarse, yet powerful and moving. She opened her eyes and stared at Mel with burning bitter anger.

"He never came," she said, "She always said someone would come. But he never came."

Mel tried to think of something to say, some comfort to give, but words failed her.

"Why should I make the journey he could not?" the girl said, "What do I owe him, that I should leave her?"

"You don't owe him anything," Mel said, dropping to a crouch in front of her, "But you owe _her_."

Galith's eyes flicked over Mel's shoulder for the briefest of moments.

"She might have made the journey," Mel said, "I don't know, but I think if she was strong enough to last this long, she could have found the strength to make her way back. But instead she chose to hide, to secret herself away from the world, because keeping you safe was more important to her than her own life. It was more important that _you_ survive, so that one day you could make this journey for her. Because only you know her story. You are the only one left that can tell the tale of Fimbrethil's bravery. And that tale deserves to be told, to the only ones in the world that can possibly understand it."

Galith dropped her eyes, a frown on her face. Mel sank to her knees and leaned forward as far as she dared.

"Your mother has given you the chance to remake the world, Galith," Mel said, "Do not let her sacrifice be in vain. You deserve this. You are owed this."

There was a long silence. Galith did not look up, did not meet her eyes, and her face remained furrowed in deep concentration. When she finally spoke, it was slowly and carefully, the first Mel had heard of her Entish heritage.

"Mother always said I was born hasty," she said, "That I was not meant for quiet places and gentle times."

Galith looked up and her eyes burned Mel all the way through.

"I will go with you, Calenhiril," she said, "I will see this world my mother sang of, and perhaps find what my mother always sang to me in lullabies."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** I'm sorry for the delay, guys. I have no excuse, other than life just sucks sometimes :( I promise I will try to do better, but I'm not going to make any promises that I can't keep. Please bear with me :)

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen**

The next week was a flurry of activity as preparations were made for the departure of the group accompanying the last enting from the Old Forest. In all the bustle and hurry, it took a few days for Mel to realize that Gandalf, though eager to help them plot and prepare for their journey, was not actually coming with them.

"Your path still stretches out into the world, while mine is winding down," the old wizard said, in response to Mel's protests, "I have traveled long and done my work well, and would now sit a while in peace and the company of friends."

Mel felt a hard knot form in her stomach, something that was not quite fear, and Gandalf must have sensed it because he put both hands on her shoulders and met her eyes with a beaming smile.

"I know this is difficult for you, Melody Calenhiril," he said, "But what you have done, you have done without my aid, and will continue to do so, of that I have no doubt."

Mel felt as if he might have missed the mark of her discomfort, but she could think of no other protests, so she said nothing.

Their last morning in the Old Forest dawned cool and clear, and as they stepped out into the dim pre-dawn light, a flock of tiny birds fluttered around Galith's head, twittering and chirping cheerfully. The girl smiled sadly and held out her long, sinewy arms, allowing the birds to light for a few moments before they took to the air once more, Galith's hand raised in farewell. The enting carried very little of her home with her: a smooth stone from the bed of the Withywindle tied around her wrist, a string of waterlily blossoms hung about her neck by Goldberry, and a single twig from her mother secured in a tangle of vines at her waist like a pouch. Mel had thought it was strange at first, but now she realized that the girl had taken everything she needed, everything that was important. Mel envied her and her little mementos of home.

Though Tom had agreed to accompany them to the edge of the Barrow Downs, here was where they would leave Goldberry and Gandalf. While the water spirit spoke with Galith in hushed tones that were for no one else's ears, Mel took a moment to turn to Gandalf, leaning on his staff close by and smiling gently.

"Will we…?" She was cut short by a cold weight in the pit of her stomach and she knew that she had finally found the source of her unease at the wizard's parting, "Will we ever see you again?"

Gandalf's smile trembled slightly and he reached out a hand to her. Mel took it and he met her eyes with that clear certainty she was so used to seeing on his face, that she had so often taken such comfort from.

"No," he said softly, "No, I do not think so, Melody Calenhiril. Not in this world, at least."

Mel bit the inside of her cheek and blinked back the tears welling up in her eyes. She knew, of course, knew where he was going and when he would get there. It would be a few years yet, but still…

There was a tug on her hand and then the wizard was hugging her, enfolding her in his robes and Mel buried her face in his shoulder.

"No one else knows us like you do," she mumbled, trying not to sound as close to crying as she was. For the first time in days she thought again of Legolas, and her chest clenched painfully, "Gandalf, I…"

"I know, Mel," the old man whispered, "I will miss you too, my dear."

It took several moments for Mel to compose herself again (if a few tears wet the sleeve of Gandalf's robe, he didn't say), but finally she was able to pull away and give the old wizard a watery smile. He returned it, cupping her face briefly in his hand. Then he looked over her shoulder, at Boromir standing behind her. He reached out and gripped the man's shoulder, his smile widening.

"Your mother would be proud of you, I think, Boromir of Gondor," he said, "As am I."

Boromir stared at the wizard for several long moments, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape. But he composed himself much more quickly than Mel had and clasped the wizard's arm firmly.

"Thank you, Gandalf," he said, his voice sounding slightly hoarse, "For everything you have done. It is more than we could ever repay."

Mel was nearly crying again when Goldberry approached on light feet, her smile bright and her eyes dancing. The water spirit pressed Boromir's hand with a simple smile and then drew Mel into a strong embrace.

"Farewell, Forest-Sister," she said, her tone playful despite the parting, "Though we may never meet again, know that you are always in our hearts and welcome in our home, you and all who go with you."

The River-Daughter sent a pointed glance in Boromir's direction and Mel gave him a questioning look, but he seemed just as perplexed as she was by this strange attention. Goldberry did not choose to shed any more light on her odd behavior, instead turning to survey the travelers one final time with that same enigmatic smile, her eyes fixing finally on Galith's drooping head. She seemed to take pity on the enting and approached her again, lifting the girl's head and brushing aside the moss-like gray hair that had fallen over her face.

"No tears, brave shepherdess," Goldberry declared, "You go to fulfill your destiny and so there is joy, even in this bitter parting. Perhaps we will yet meet again, before the world is remade. Hold to hope, it will keep you true."

Galith seemed to resolve herself, straightening her narrow shoulders, the vines and leaves about her rippling and rustling. The River-Daughter smiled and stood on tip toes to press a kiss to the enting's cheek, before turning back to the company at large.

"Farewell, gentle travelers!" she said, her voice ringing in the clear morning, "The hope of the world and the heart of the River goes with you!"

Tom smiled broadly and leaned down to peck a kiss to his wife's cheek, which she returned with a grin. Then Tom waved the others toward the path down the hillside.

"Come then, come then, down the Withywindle!" he chanted cheerfully, "Come all, follow Tom, Tom Bombadillo!"

Mel and Boromir shouldered their packs and all three travelers followed after him, just as the sun was just touching the tops of the trees. But before they entered the tree line, Galith stopped to look back and Mel paused with her. The golden light of the rising sun had enveloped Goldberry, shimmering around her like a halo. She raised a long, slender arm in a final farewell, and then she vanished into the house, Gandalf following in her wake. Galith waited only a moment longer, then turned to follow Tom, easily passing Mel up in two long strides. Mel saw Boromir hanging back just inside the trees, waiting for her, so she adjusted her pack and hurried to catch up.

The trip was somber, even with Tom's occasional bursts of rhyme and song. Galith traveled silently at the woodsman's side, Mel and Boromir following behind uneasily. They made good time though, reaching the edge of the Old Forest just before noon, but just within the shadowed edge of the forest, Galith jerked to a sudden halt.

"What is it?" Mel asked, catching up and giving the surrounding open fields an intense stare, "What's wrong?"

"This is it," the enting said, staring out at the rolling hills still clinging stubbornly to morning mists in spots, her eyes wide and her face set in hard lines, "This is the border of my world. Once I pass from under the shelter of these trees, I will have left behind all that I have ever known."

Oh.

Mel suddenly saw the empty plains before them with new eyes, tinged with Galith's anxiety and fear. She had been a wanderer, Fimbrethil had said so, but she had never strayed beyond the forest. Even this was too far. How many times must the girl have come here, sitting just within the trees and staring out at this wide expanse, never knowing or even guessing what lay beyond? And now she was breaking her ties with the home of her childhood and setting out for a place and a people that she had never seen.

 _It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, you never know where you might get swept off to…_

The parallels between the enting and Samwise Gamgee were too poignant to miss. But Mel was no Frodo, or Bilbo for that matter. She was a stranger. She had no comfort to offer this child and, not for the first time, she felt monumentally unqualified for the task that had been put to her.

After another brief moment of stillness, Galith shook herself, took a breath, and very deliberately stepped into the midday sunshine. She paused, one foot in shadow and one foot in light, glancing back one last time toward the home she had never dared dream of leaving. Then she shut her eyes and took another step, letting the sun flood her face and breathing deep of this new air. Her eyes opened and she kept walking. She did not look back again.

Tom quickly retook the lead, striding confidently beside a stiff Galith, whose face rarely turned from the path directly in front of her. Her gait, which had been easy and loping in the forest, took on a stiff, almost tip-toeing quality, as if every step held the potential to cut her large splayed feet to ribbons. At first Mel thought it had something to do with the ground and she carefully inspected the grass underfoot as they passed. But though it was no longer green, the grass was soft enough, and there were no stones or prickly weeds that Mel could see. A crow cawed in the distance and Galith jerked, dropping down and stumbling back a step. Mel could see her dark eyes twitching under the swath of moss-like hair and her limbs were stiff and tense.

"Lady Galith."

Boromir's voice cut through the silence like the smooth stroke of an oar in water. Galith's eyes flew to him, wide and terrified, despite her hard, emotionless expression.

"These lands are known to us," Boromir said, with a quiet gentleness that still spoke of confidence and strength, "No harm will come to you while you travel with us. You have my word. You are safe."

Galith searched Boromir's eyes for several seconds, and Boromir let her, standing resolute and almost nonchalant with his hand resting on his sword hilt. Slowly, ever so slowly, the enting began to uncoil, shifting to stand erect on her feet again. The girl was easily a head taller than Boromir, but suddenly she seemed very small next to him.

"Of course, my lord Boromir," she said softly, "I know this. The Calenhiril would not allow me to come to harm."

Mel flinched at the unintentional accusation. She should have been the one comforting the girl, the one soothing her fears. She was terrible at this.

"Of course not, Galith," Mel said, "I made a promise to your mother, remember?"

Galith nodded, still stiff, but not from fear now, more from indignation Mel thought. She was embarrassed. Mel felt sympathy for her. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, but she didn't know how to say this without sounding insincere. For an interminable time, they walked on in silence. When it got to be too much for Mel, she finally worked up the courage to speak again.

"Can I tell you the story of how I got here?"

Galith's head tilted toward her, surprised, and then her eyes narrowed.

"Why?"

Mel shrugged.

"I haven't told the whole thing to someone in a while; I wouldn't want the memories to fade. And it'll help pass the time."

"A good tale does make the miles roll by faster," Tom agreed, grinning and nodding at Mel, "And I would like to hear your story, Melody Calenhiril."

Mel glanced at Boromir, who nodded ever so slightly, a fond smile twitching the corners of his lips. So as they walked the Barrow Downs, Mel told the story, of getting lost in the woods, of how confused and then frightened she had been when Boromir had appeared and taken her to Rivendell, of the failed attempts to send her home and, once that had been abandoned, her self-appointed mission to save Boromir's life without his knowledge. Galith never looked at her as she spoke, but her eyes said that she was listening and she seemed to drift almost imperceptibly closer to Mel as Tom led them over the misty hills, which Mel took as a good sign.

She was on the verge of recounting her harrowing journey from Lothlorien, racing Fate down the Anduin, when Tom called a halt.

"This is the end of the Barrow Downs," he announced, "We'll camp here for tonight, I think."

Galith's face opened in shock and a brief glimpse of fear, but she quickly closed her expression again.

"Will you be leaving us then?" she asked, her voice rough and deep, but steady.

Tom gave the girl a fond smile and squeezed her shoulder.

"Not yet," he said, "The Downs are still rife with the potential for darkness. When morning comes, I will take my leave."

No one spoke as they made camp on the edge of the hilly countryside, and all of a sudden the realization of what was happening hit Mel for the first time. They were on their way back. She had completed her task, found the entwives, and now she was bringing them home. Or what was left of them. For a quest that had started with such a gleaming shine of hope, the conclusion was proving to have a bitter aftertaste. The image of Wandlimb's twisted body sleeping forever in that gloomy glen and the residual mental agony of the petrified entwife in the forest of Imladris would haunt Mel for the rest of her life. But when she looked at Galith, she could see why her mother had called her ' _my light from the ashes'_. The vibrancy of her life shone through every part of her, filling Mel with exuberance and hope again. If she could just get her to Treebeard, everything would be alright.

Tom took the watch over the Barrow Downs, and Galith's lithe form folded into itself, not quite beside him, but not quite apart. She was very still and quiet, but Mel didn't know if she actually slept. There was so much she didn't know about the girl in her charge, but tonight was not the night for questions. Tonight she was exhausted. She lay down next to Boromir, who wrapped her in his arms and kissed the top of her head.

"That was very kind, what you did today," Mel murmured, already half asleep, "For Galith. I should have been paying more attention."

"There is little enough for me to do on this quest of yours," Boromir answered, playfully, "I would offer what comfort and solace I can."

Mel hummed in agreement, her eyes falling shut.

"Melody?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you alright?"

Mel nodded sluggishly.

"Mmm, just tired."

Boromir settled her closer to his side and stroked her hair.

"Then go to sleep, my love."

* * *

The next morning, Mel woke up feeling uneasy, a rolling feeling in the pit of her stomach that made it difficult for her to even think about food. Boromir handed her an apple and she took it, but reluctantly and she didn't bite into it. Boromir frowned.

"Melody, are you alright?"

He was asking that a lot lately, Mel thought.

"I'm fine," she insisted, tucking the apple into her bag, "I'm just not hungry right now."

The frown on Boromir's brow only deepened, but he said nothing else.

Tom was already up and had crested the top of the nearest hill, stretching his large body toward the rising sun. Then he put his cupped hands about his face and a long, warbling whistle echoed against the Barrow Downs with a creepy sort of dissonance that set Mel's teeth on edge. The answering whinny of a horse did a lot to calm her nerves though, and in moments three familiar horses appeared over the rise and cantered in among them, pawing the dirt and tossing their heads. Mel caught the bridle of her mare with a grin, and Tom ruffled Shadowfax's forelock good-naturedly.

"There now, old friend, you've done fine by your charges," he said, merrily, "I bring a message for your lordship from Olórin: He thanks you for your service and your patience, but he would tarry here a while longer so he bids you farewell. Go your way in peace, and take all our good will with you."

Shadowfax tossed his head again, snorted once, then turned and galloped away, pausing only to rear up into the rising sunlight before disappearing over the hill. Mel watched him go, feeling heavy-hearted. It was like losing the last of an old life, all over again.

Boromir wasted no time, loading up the horses with their bags and cinching everything tight. While Mel was going over her tack, she caught Galith and Tom out of the corner of her eye, standing a little way off with their heads bent together. She dropped her eyes and turned away, allowing them a few moments privacy for farewells.

Tom finally approached them, his eyes just as merry as ever.

"Fare you well, friends!" he boomed, raising his hand to them, "If you should ever be passing by this way again, well… you know how to reach me."

He tossed a wink in Mel's direction and she grinned at him. Tom took Galith's shoulders and she bent to allow him to kiss her brow. And then he was gone, bounding off with a rollicking, "Hey bom, Hey Tom, Tom Bombadillo…" echoing over the hills. Galith watched until he finally vanished from sight, but when she turned back her face was set in determined lines that did not give any hint to what she must be feeling.

"I'm ready," she said, "Let's go."

Mel and Boromir mounted up and the three of them continued on their way, Galith easily keeping pace with the horses. The enting did not seem to tire, her long legs taking smooth, easy steps over terrain that was becoming progressively rockier. As the sun rose higher over the hills and turned the world a little brighter and a little warmer, Mel felt her unease start to subside and she pulled the apple out of her bag, munching contentedly.

"How did you reach him in time?"

The enting's voice startled her and she nearly choked. Galith was striding beside her, head held high, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

"You said yesterday that your companions had a good day's head start and that they took to the river while you followed on horseback. How did you reach them in time?"

Mel swallowed her surprise and smiled, sitting back in her saddle.

"I actually thought I hadn't."

Then she launched into the next part of her story, of how she was taken by the orcs of the White Hand and delivered to the wizard Saruman. It was hard, talking about what she had endured there, but not as hard as she might have thought it would be. Galith listened with intensity as Mel told her what she could remember of her rescue and the subsequent battle for Isengard.

"My father did this?" Galith asked when they stopped for a rest and some food, "He led the assault on the wizard's domain?"

"Yes," Mel said, "But not without hesitation. Ents do not do anything in haste."

"So my mother says," Galith said, "She always said I was too hasty."

"There's another ent I know like that," Mel said, smiling, "His name is Bregalad; he's a rowan ent. They call him Quickbeam because he is so much hastier than the others. You'll probably meet him, he was still at Orthanc when we were there last."

"Are there many others?" Galith asked, as Mel munched absently on some jerky and bread.

"Not many," Mel said, "At least, not that I've seen. Ten, maybe."

"Ten?" Galith's eyes were wide and Mel suddenly realized that ten must seem like a much larger number to someone who has never seen another of her kind in her life, not healthy at least.

"It'll be alright," Mel said, reaching out and brushing her fingers against the twitching vines curling around Galith's arm, "They'll all just be so happy to see you. They've been waiting for you for a long time."

"No, they haven't," Galith said, pulling away from the touch, "I was planted well after the Great Burning. No one even knows I exist."

"That doesn't matter," Mel said, "You're one of them, they..."

"What if I'm not?" Galith snapped, turning flashing eyes back on Mel, "I don't know anything about being an ent! My mother sang to me in the Old Tongue, but I can barely speak it; I have not the patience! I am hasty and impulsive and rash. I know only what my mother taught me and by the time I was old enough to learn she was planted in the ground, so broken and afraid that she could not move, hiding herself away from everything, from the light and the world. I know my father only as a liar and a coward, who abandoned us and then left us for dead, and now I am to give myself into his hands, and I…"

Galith gasped and dropped further into her folded crouch on the ground, ducking her head into her leafy arms and allowing her moss-like hair to fall down around her. She looked very much like a twisted little tree and Mel thought this was her way of hiding, the method she had adopted to remain unseen and unnoticed, to protect herself.

"I'm sorry," the girl said after a moment of complete stillness, her voice hoarse and deep. For a moment Mel thought she sounded very much like her father, though she would never have said so, "Forgive me. My path is set, I know I cannot stray..."

"No."

Galith twitched at Mel's sharp rebuke, but she did not lift her face. Mel clenched her jaw and bent down so she could look where Galith's face would be if it were not hidden by her hair.

" _No_ ," she repeated, "That is crap, Galith. You always have a choice. I promised your mother that I would take you to Treebeard, and that's what I'm going to do, but once we get there, you can do whatever you want! If we get to Isengard, and you decide that Fangorn is everything that you hate, something that I doubt very much by the way, seeing as he's kind of a friend of mine, but if you decide you just can't stand him, then you leave. Come back to the Old Forest if you want, or hell, you can come with us! Ithilien is gonna need all the healing power it can get, and I certainly can't take care of it all by myself. I'm good, but I'm not _that_ good."

Slowly, Galith lowered her hands, her eyes peeking through the flutter of her gray hair.

"You truly mean all that, don't you?" she said, her voice soft, "You believe it?"

Mel rolled her eyes.

"Are you kidding me?" she asked, with a gentle touch of laughter, "Haven't you been listening to the story I've been telling you? My life has become one big fable on the power of choices. I live for throwing expectations out the window. I am Fate's worst nightmare."

A giggle bubbled out of Galith and she looked surprised by the sound. Mel grinned and brushed the girl's hair out of her face.

"You are not under anyone's control, Galith, except your own. I'm never gonna force you to do anything," Mel said, "But, I will _ask_ you to just... give them a chance. After all, how can you know whether or not you're like an ent if you've never met them?"

Galith let out a long breath of air, dropping her hands completely into her lap.

"You are right, Melody Calenhiril," she said, "I will try."

That night, as Mel and Boromir sat watch together under the stars, Galith folded in her quiet, still way that Mel was still not entirely sure counted as sleep, Boromir leaned in and whispered approvingly in her ear.

"That was very well put, Melody, what you said to her earlier."

"Do you think so?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the girl anxiously, "I'm not sure if I did the right thing, telling her she didn't have to stay with the ents. Maybe that _is_ where she's supposed to be."

"You did no more or less than I would expect of you," Boromir answered with quiet surety, "Or anyone else would expect of you, I imagine. You were given this task for a reason, Melody, do not forget that. How you feel and what you believe are a part of who you are. Do not second guess your convictions, when it is your convictions that might very well be the reason you were chosen in the first place. Everything will work out exactly as it should, I expect."

Mel nodded and leaned into his side, letting him wrap her up in his arms, hoping some of the confidence he felt might seep in to her too.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** There is a little bit of Sindarin in this chapter, I've put translations at the bottom. And I know this chapter is a little short, but trust me, it's worth it ;P Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty**

By the time they reached the borders of Imladris, Mel was starting to wonder if something really _was_ wrong with her. She felt tired all the time and she felt this constant, lingering uneasiness that unsettled her stomach, making it impossible for her to even consider eating anything more than bland bread and what little else Boromir could force into her hand. She kept most of her concerns to herself, not wanting to worry Galith, but she could tell from Boromir's face that he was worried, even if she kept insisting she was fine.

It was late afternoon when they entered the outskirts of the valley and they had only been beneath the trees for an hour, at most, when they were greeted by the musical sound of elven hunting horns, accompanied shortly after by the hunting party itself, led by two very familiar elf-lords.

"Esgalion! Lindel!" Elladan cried cheerfully, pulling up short before them, "You've returned to us so soon! And after the way you slipped away like thieves in the night... We were very cross that you did not bid us farewell, Lindel, weren't we, brother?"

"Oh yes, brother, very cross indeed," Elrohir agreed, sidling his horse up a few steps, "So cross in fact that we've taken it upon ourselves to declare it a slight on our honor, which must be resolved in a duel at the first opportunity."

"There really is no other way," Elladan said, a cheeky grin spreading over his face.

Mel managed a weary smile for the brothers and opened her mouth to reply, but Boromir beat her to it.

"Can your slighted honor perhaps wait until we have been made welcome at the house of your father and a more appropriate time appointed?" he asked, his teasing voice hiding only the barest hint of a growl, "We have come a long way and your dear friend is not feeling well, though you are clearly too concerned with her manners to notice."

"You are unwell?"

Galith's disembodied voice startled the company of elves, some of whom half drew swords before Mel waved them away.

"No, stop, it's okay! It's okay, she's with us."

She searched the trees where she knew Galith had to be hiding, but the shadows were thick. She hadn't even seen the enting slip away.

"In that case, perhaps your companion would like to show herself, Lindel," Elrohir said, his voice smooth and calm, though his hand still rested on his sword hilt, "We mean no harm to those we greet as friends."

There was a pause, but nothing happened.

"Galith," Mel said, giving each word a deliberate weight, "Please come out. We won't let anyone hurt you, remember? You're with us, and these are our friends. Please, just… trust me."

Another pause. Mel held her breath, her eyes still searching the trees. And then slowly, ever so slowly, Galith slipped from the shadows, as if her body was being pulled from the forest itself. The elves inhaled sharply, almost as one entity, and Elrohir's horse shied back a step, his hand dropping from his sword, eyes wide.

"I don't believe it…" Elladan muttered, almost to himself, "She found them. She actually found the entwives."

Galith flinched and drew back slightly.

"My mother is an entwife," she said sharply, "I have not yet earned the privilege. I am but an enting-girl."

Mel twitched a bit at that. She had not thought there was a distinguishable difference, or that being called 'entwife' was something that had to be earned. She wondered what the requirements were and decided to ask Galith about it later. Add it to her ever-growing list of questions…

The elves did not seem any less awestruck by this revelation though, all openly staring as Galith crouched down further, her hands hovering close to her face, as if she were fighting the urge to cover herself, to hide in that peculiar way she had. Mel dismounted her horse and stepped in front of her, between the child and the stares of the elves, her hand resting on her sword, lightly, but within reach just in case.

"This girl is under my protection, as the Calenhiril," Mel declared, with far more command to her tone than she had anticipated, "Will you grant her the hospitality of Imladris, my lords, or must we find another way around the valley?"

That seemed to snap Elrohir out of his daze, at least. He straightened primly and placed a hand over his heart in salute.

"Goheno men, Lindel," he said, "You are right. We have not been the most gracious of hosts. Your husband says you are not well, and yet we continue to stand here in the forest speaking of things that can be discussed once you are seen to."

"I am well enough," Mel said, swallowing back a wave of nausea even as she said it, "What concerns me is the safety and well-being of those in my charge."

"Dîn mellyn a mîn mellyn, Lindel!" Elladan said finally catching up to his brother in a cheerful rush, "You are always welcome here! Come, we would hear all about your adventures! You can tell us on the way."

He turned his horse and waved a hand, giving a sharp command in Sindarin. The elves that were still gaping snapped back to attention and in moments they were all heading deeper into the forest, Galith keeping to the trees on one side of Mel and the twins happily riding along on the other as she gave them the short version of what had happened to her after she'd left Imladris in the middle of the night.

"Prince Legolas was most distraught that you chose to continue without him, you know," Elrohir said.

"He and the dwarf had quite an argument about it," Elladan confirmed solemnly, "I think it might have come to blows had Mithrandir not stepped in."

Mel resisted the urge to cringe. She hated the thought that she might have somehow come between Legolas and Gimli. She would never forgive herself, _never_ _…_

"Ah, well," Elrohir said, glancing at her with a smile, "It was all settled in the end. They left for home soon after the wizard and the hobbits departed."

Mel felt a little bit of relief at that. Good. She hadn't ruined everything. That was good.

"But why _did_ you leave him behind, Lindel?" Elladan asked curiously, "Was there something wrong?"

Mel shook her head.

"No, nothing," she lied, "I just didn't want to keep them from home any longer. They'd been away far too long as it was, I didn't want them to feel obligated to continue on with me."

The twins exchanged a communicative look over her head, but neither said anything to contradict her. Mel was grateful.

The twins trotted up ahead to lead the party through a tangle of underbrush, but Mel was content to hang back, striding silently beside Galith as the others cleared the way. The girl was staring around her with awe-widened eyes and Mel smiled at her child-like expression.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Mel said, glancing around herself and reveling in the murmur of the valley forest voices.

"It's so gentle," Galith whispered, "And quiet. So…"

"Friendly?" Mel supplied and Galith stared at her.

"Yes," she finally agreed, looking up into the softly bending tree tops, "Yes, that is a good word. Friendly, open, inviting. It feels as if the very air is filled with light."

Galith reached out and brushed one spindly hand over the low hanging branches almost reverently.

"It is nothing like home," she said finally.

"There's nothing wrong with appreciating something different from what you know," Mel said, "It doesn't mean you miss it any less."

Galith nodded, her head jerking in quick movements as she followed the brief swirl of a bird through the air before it disappeared again into the trees.

"Are you truly not feeling well, Calenhiril?"

Mel rubbed her stomach almost subconsciously and quickly dropped her hand.

"I'm fine," she said, "I think I'm just worn out. Once we reach Rivendell, I'll get some food in me, get a good night's sleep, and I'll be right as rain."

Galith quirked her head to the side.

"Right as rain…" she said, as if tasting the phrase in her mouth, "I like that. Very treeish."

Mel smiled and they lapsed into silence again. After a moment, Mel glanced ahead and saw that the elves were still occupied (they had now engaged Boromir in some kind of discussion), leaving her and Galith mostly to themselves.

"What did you mean, when you said you weren't an entwife?" Mel asked, "When you said you hadn't earned the privilege?"

Galith shrugged.

"My mother said that when I was old enough, I would find a garden of my own to tend. Once that garden had grown to fruit, once and then again, I would be full grown enough to call myself an entwife. She promised that my gardens would someday be as lovely as those she had tended herself, in her youth. But I never saw those gardens, so I do not know what she meant. I only know that I am not yet an entwife. I am still a child, and will be until I fulfill that promise."

Mel let that sink in for a minute. She had never thought there might be a right of passage for ents or entwives. Was her part in this tale not over just because she had found a _potential_ entwife? Was she expected to help Galith fulfill this promise too? It seemed simple enough, but Mel wondered if there weren't some kind of trick to it. After all, nothing was ever simple in her life anymore.

* * *

They broke through the trees at dusk and Mel was hit with a sudden burst of nostalgia. She pulled up short, staring across the valley as the light dimmed and the dancing lights of Imladris twinkled in the twilight. Boromir had dropped back to ride beside her, and he stopped when he sensed she was no longer with him.

"Lindel?" he asked, turning back to her, "What is it, my love?"

Mel tore her eyes from the sight of Rivendell and smiled at him.

"It's just like the first time," she said.

Boromir glanced over his shoulder at the view and his shoulders heaved in sudden realization. He turned back to her and smiled.

"So it is," he said gently.

He held out his hand to her and she took it, letting him press a kiss to her knuckles.

"Come," he said.

They descended toward the city where they had spent their first days together, only this time they were not alone. Mel felt just as exhausted as she had that first day though. It was getting ridiculous how easily she tired.

The elves blew their hunting horns triumphantly as they approached the bridge to the Last Homely House, and there was an answering horn call that echoed against the rocks and trees. Mel took a moment to glance at Galith. The enting was staring around her in slack-jawed amazement, keeping very close to Mel and Boromir. Mel reached out and touched the girl's arm, which made her flinch.

"Alright?" Mel asked, trying to put as much confidence as she could into her smile.

Galith looked around her again, and then nodded.

"Yes."

Mel decided to leave it at that.

They were greeted by a small group of elves, who all stopped and stared openly as Galith stepped through the archway into the flickering light of the lanterns that lined the courtyard. There was a brief moment of complete silence. And then everyone seemed to take a collective breath and everything as hushed murmurs, pressing around the hunting party in ever more curious closeness. Just as Mel feared that Galith might take it upon herself to retreat back into the relative safety of the archway (and possibly the forest beyond), Lord Elrond himself appeared at the top of the stairs leading into the courtyard. When they saw him descending into their midst, the elves seemed to remember themselves and stepped back as he swept through them in a swirl of gray and purple robes.

"Welcome once again, travelers," he said, in a calm, cheerful voice that nevertheless commanded the attention of the whole space, "You are well met indeed. I see that you have brought a new guest into my house. I wonder, Lindel, if you might be so kind as to introduce me to your companion?"

He spoke of Galith as if there were nothing more unusual about her than that she was a new face in a sea of familiar ones, and he smiled at her with all the friendly charm that he had for everyone that came through his gates. Mel could see Galith relax her tensed up limbs and that in turn made Mel feel less like her heart was going to explode out of her chest.

"This is Galith, my lord" she said, "She comes from the Old Forest, west of the Barrow-Downs, and is only passing this way on her journey East to her father who now resides in Orthanc."

Lord Elrond inclined his head politely to the enting-girl, his hand over his heart.

"Hail and well-met, Galith of the Old Forest," he said, extending his hand in a gesture of welcome, "Long has it been since the daughters of Yavanna have passed through this valley. You are most welcome here for as long as you have need."

Galith's eyes flicked to Mel in the briefest hint of nervous hesitation before she answered.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, her voice sounding small and very child-like, "I have never met an elf, but my mother told me that always they have been friendly to us. I am pleased to see her words still hold true and I hope someday I might repay your kindness."

This seemed to please Lord Elrond immensely.

"I only hope that we may serve you well, Galith, and that you might find peace and rest here, as all do. But come, you and your companions must be weary. We will find you accommodations to fit your needs and then you will take your rest. In the morning, we will talk more."

Mel was a little nervous about the accommodations, but after speaking with Lindir, she and Boromir were placed in a room with a balcony overlooking a small garden where Galith said she could rest very comfortably within a small circle of evergreens in the corner. Mel could hear them whispering in hushed excitement as Galith settled in.

" _The entwives, the entwives! The entwives have returned!"_

The call was taken up by the other trees close by, and soon Mel could hear the murmur echoing throughout Rivendell, a steady chant in the back of her mind that made her smile.

Instead of dining with Lord Elrond, trays were sent to their rooms so they could eat in peace, and once that was done Mel was so tired she just crawled into the soft bed and laid there, her eyes half closed. Boromir stood just within the waving curtains of the balcony, taking one last look into the garden before he crawled into bed beside her.

"She alright?" Mel asked, sleepily.

Boromir hummed in an affirmative and Mel settled herself deeper into his arms, sighing contentedly. She was already nearly asleep when Boromir's voice murmured in her ear.

"You didn't touch your apple."

Mel frowned and forced her eyes open just a little bit.

"Are you still not feeling well?" he asked gently.

"I think I'm just tired," she said, "I'll feel better in the morning."

"I think you should see Lord Elrond," Boromir said, in a firm but gentle tone, "You haven't felt well since we left the Old Forest and we have a long way to go yet. If you are sick, we should see to it before we move on."

Mel wanted to argue, but the truth was she was too tired. Her eyes were already drooping closed again, no matter how hard she fought it.

"M'kay," she murmured, "In the morning."

Boromir kissed her temple.

"I love you, Melody."

"Love you too," Mel murmured and then she was asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Mel felt worse than ever. Even the thought of eating made her stomach roll and she wondered if she was going to be able to even get out of bed. But get out of bed she did, mostly because she knew if she didn't, Boromir would force her to stay and send for Lord Elrond as if she were dying. Which she wasn't. She wasn't dying, that much she knew, she couldn't die, she had come too far and had too much left to do. Dying was out of the question.

So she got out of bed, took a bath (which made her feel marginally better), and forced down a piece of bread that felt like it might immediately come back up her throat. Finally, she requested an audience with Lord Elrond, which was granted, and she consented to let the elf-lord examine her.

* * *

"…What do you mean, I'm _pregnant_?!"

* * *

 **Elvish Translations**

 _(all translations are Sindarin unless otherwise noted)_

Goheno men- forgive us

Dîn mellyn a mîn mellyn- Your friends are our friends

* * *

 **Brief A/N:** I REGRET NOTHING! :D


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:** I know what you guys are thinking: "Two chapters in one week? What is this madness? We're not prepared for this!" And yet, here it is! Since I was so bad about posting updates last month, I'm giving you guys a two-for-one this week! And after the way I ended that last chapter, well… I just couldn't leave well enough alone ;P Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-One**

Mel sat on a garden bench in the late morning sun, staring at nothing. She was still trying to figure out how this had happened.

Well… Of course, she knew _how_ it had happened, she wasn't stupid. It was more a question of _why_ it had happened. Why now? Why, when she had so much left to do, so much counting on her, had she gotten pregnant _now?_

Lord Elrond was certain of it. More than certain. He was also _beyond_ thrilled. Apparently kids were a big deal to elves and the elf-lord had been damn near beside himself when he'd given her the news. And he couldn't seem to understand why she was not nearly as excited at the prospect as he was.

 _Didn't you want children?_

The truth was Mel had not really even considered it. She supposed in the back of her mind she had known it would happen eventually (again, she wasn't stupid), but she hadn't given it much thought. It hadn't come up in the five (or was it six now?) months she and Boromir had been together, and there had been far more pressing matters on her mind. Now it was staring her in the face and she was not in any way prepared. She was in the middle of nowhere, on the tail-end of a quest that might or might not turn out to be dangerous, especially in the mountains, and she was…

A baby.

She was going to have a baby.

And she was terrified.

Her hands fluttered hesitantly over her stomach, still flat as ever, no sign at all that there was…

She dropped her hands and clenched the edge of the bench seat until her knuckles were white, forcing air into her lungs. She had been kidnapped by orcs, held prisoner by a crazed wizard, been shot through the chest and _died_. She could handle this. It was just a baby. People had babies all the time. This was not a new thing. She took another deep breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth. She could do this. She could totally do this.

"Lindel?"

Boromir's voice startled her so badly that she jerked. He stood just on the edge of the path, frozen in mid-step toward her, his hand partially outstretched, hesitating.

"Are you alright?" he asked, "Lord Elrond told me I might find you here."

Mel panicked. What else had the elf told him? Did he already know? What was he going to say? She couldn't just give up this mission, she had made a promise to Wandlimb, she had to get Galith to Isengard, she couldn't…

"Lindel?"

She jumped again and realized that she hadn't actually answered him.

"Sorry," she said, but her voice came out much raspier than she'd intended, so she cleared her throat and tried again, "Sorry, I'm fine, really."

Slowly, Boromir settled himself on the bench beside her, studying her carefully.

"Are you sure?" he asked, brushing a hand tentatively through her hair, "Lord Elrond said that you were not sick, but you still look pale."

Mel sighed and leaned into his touch.

"No," she said, finally, "I'm not sick."

"Then what is it?" Boromir asked, "Tell me, what troubles you?"

And for the briefest moment, Mel thought about lying. Just for now, just until they were out of Rivendell and on their way to Isengard, too far to change their minds, too far to turn back. But… no. No, she couldn't do that. She had made a promise after her choice on the Morannon, that she wouldn't keep things from him anymore, that she wouldn't try to bear her burdens alone. And this was not just her burden to bear, that was for sure.

She huffed a little laugh and took his hand in both of hers. Holding his hand, she felt a little less afraid. She loved him. And she could see the love he had for her, glowing through the concern in his eyes. The words slipped from her mouth almost without trying.

"I'm pregnant."

He froze. Literally, stopped moving completely, didn't even blink. For a moment, he didn't even breathe. Then his eyes narrowed and he took a shallow breath.

"Melody, don't jest," he said, his voice dark and serious.

"I'm not," Mel said quickly, almost breathlessly, "God, no, I wouldn't… Lord Elrond just told me. He told me several times, actually, because I wouldn't believe him."

There were several seconds of silence. Boromir leaned back slowly, eyes wide and unseeing, staring into the middle distance, his face set in a completely neutral expression. If Mel could have twisted her hands together she would have, but they were both still clasped in Boromir's rigid grip. This went on for what felt like ages, (but was probably only a few milliseconds) before words started pouring out of her mouth like water.

"I didn't know, I swear, and I didn't know how I was going to tell you, but this is important, like, _really_ important, and I don't know how we're going to do this, and the timing is just _beyond_ terrible, there's so much we've got to do and I can't let Fimbrethil down, I _can't,_ and I can't let Galith down, she's depending on us, and I don't know how this is…"

Somewhere in the middle of this, Boromir sat up and pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. The words cascading from her lips suddenly dried up and a knot in her chest loosened. She shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath, filling her nose with the scent of leather and pine and a comfortingly _Boromir_ smell. She took another deep breath, and one more, before she finally felt calm again. She pushed herself upright and it was then that she realized Boromir's eyes were wet. He was… But he didn't… The knot of panic clenched in her chest again.

"Oh god, oh _god,_ I'm sorry, I'm so…"

"Shhh…" Boromir hushed, cupping her face gently in his hands and pulling her close to rest their foreheads together, closing his eyes, "It's alright, Melody, it's alright."

"But you're upset, and I've made you upset, and I…"

"I am not upset," he said, "I assure you I am as far from upset as I could possibly be at this moment."

"But you're…"

"Melody."

She stopped. He opened his eyes, the beautiful gray filling her vision.

"We are going to have a child," he said, "It will be difficult. The timing, as you have said, is not ideal. But we are going to have a _child,_ my love, and I have never been happier in my entire life than I am right now."

Mel took another deep breath.

"You're not… mad?"

Boromir threw back his head and laughed, gathering her up and settling her comfortably in his lap.

"I could not be angry even if I wanted to," he said, amusement still evident in his voice as he nuzzled her neck playfully, "And though the timing is less than convenient, at this moment I am confident that things will work out just as they should."

"Lord Elrond said that he wanted to speak to us, you know, after…" Mel said, hesitantly.

"Good," Boromir said, setting Mel easily on her feet and standing, "I have several questions to ask of him, not the least of which is the safety of travel."

He took her hand and spun her once before she could reply, pulling her in as she huffed a breathless laugh and kissed her soundly on the lips.

"A child…" he murmured happily, pressing another kiss to her forehead, "Our child…"

Mel smiled, but pulled away a bit to look him in the eye.

"We have someone else's child to see to though," she reminded him sternly, "I made a promise to Fimbrethil that I would see Galith safely to Isengard. I have to keep that promise, Boromir. It's important."

Boromir nodded, his expression soft, but serious as he brushed a brown curl behind her ear.

"I know, my love, I have not forgotten," he said, "Let us see what Lord Elrond has to say."

* * *

Visiting Lord Elrond did a lot to set both their minds at ease. The elf-lord was still giddy at the prospect of the couple being "given a child" as he put it, but when Boromir voiced concerns about their continued travel, Lord Elrond was quick to put his worries to rest.

"You are still in the very early days, Lindel," he assured her kindly, his eyes bright, "You might begin to feel discomfort late in your journey, but so long as you take the trek at a reasonable pace, I see no reason why you may not continue your journey home as planned. As happy as we would be to house and care for you during this time, I imagine you wish to be home among relatives for this happy occasion."

"Home yes, Lord Elrond," Mel said, "Though I'm sorry to say no relatives wait for us."

"No one?" Lord Elrond asked, his brow furrowed in sudden concern, "For either of you?"

Mel reached out and took Boromir's hand, which had gone stiff, but relaxed in her grip.

"No, my lord," she said, "But we have each other. And we are close to Minas Tirith, so we are not without care."

Lord Elrond nodded, but seemed rather less pleased than he had before.

"Very well," he said, "But know that you are welcome in this house for as long as you like, Lindel. We have not had a child in these halls for many years, it would be a pleasure to house yours, however briefly."

The offer was tempting. But still Mel shook her head.

"We have someone else's child that needs us right now, my lord," she said, "I made a promise to her mother. I intend to keep it."

Lord Elrond inclined his head respectfully.

"Your devotion does you credit, my lady," he said, "I imagine you'll want to leave as soon as possible, with the winter coming on. I will see that you have everything I can provide to make travel as comfortable as possible. For now, enjoy this time together and worry not for your journey."

"You are too generous, my lord," Boromir said, rising and bowing to him in the Gondorian style, with a hand over his heart, "I only hope that we may someday repay your kindness."

Lord Elrond returned his gesture with a smile.

"It pleases me to see such joy and hope renewed after so much lingering darkness," the elf said, "You have already repaid me, Esgalion, more than you know."

* * *

Telling Galith the news was something that Mel had to work herself up to. She spent most of the afternoon pacing her room, stomach rolling as she practiced several variations of the conversation, repeating reassurances and explanations over and over in her head.

All of which became completely useless when Galith responded to her announcement with a completely unruffled, "I know."

Mel stared at the enting for several seconds, glad that she was already sitting down. Galith did not seem aware of the effect of her words. She was staring up into the branches of the trees they were seated under, her long, flexible fingers running through the grass absently, her body weaving as if to some slow, steady rhythm only she could hear.

"You… You know?" Mel stuttered, still slightly dazed.

"Of course," Galith said, reaching out to gently brush the trunk of a pine tree, "The moment we met, I sensed the seed of new life in you."

Galith finally turned her large eyes to Mel and tipped her head to the side curiously.

"Do you mean that you did not know?"

"Uh… no," Mel said, "No, not before today. It doesn't really work that way for humans."

Galith seemed to consider this for a moment, her eyes distant.

"How strange," she murmured finally, turning back to the tree where her hand still rested, "To have life and not be aware of it."

"You're telling me," Mel muttered, almost to herself.

"Are you afraid?"

The question was calm and smooth, and like most of this conversation, it knocked Mel's thoughts off-balance.

"I… I am. A little."

Galith nodded as if that were perfectly reasonable. Her hand continued to run patterns in the tree bark as she spoke.

"My mother said she was afraid when she learned that she carried my seed," she said, "She knew the darkness was coming. She put off my planting far longer than she should have. She waited until it was safe, and then she feared she had waited too long. I grew slowly in the dim light and muddy ground of Tom and Goldberry's forest and my mother would not sleep in the winters that followed for fear that she would wake and I would be gone."

An image of Rod and Birch popped into Mel's head, Rod waiting patiently through the winter months, hoping in faith that his young charge would wake in the spring and they could start again.

"When will you plant?"

Mel jumped.

"What?"

Galith was looking at her expectantly, her head still tilted to the side like a curious child.

"Your seed. When will you plant? Will you wait until spring?"

"It… It doesn't really work like that, Galith. Humans aren't planted, they're born. And we don't have a lot of say on when that happens."

Galith's brow furrowed and a frown turned down the line of her mouth.

"That sounds… inconvenient."

Mel barked a laugh.

"Yeah," she said, "Yeah it is. But Galith, the reason I wanted to tell you is, I just wanted you to know that this doesn't change anything. Boro…"

Mel stopped short and glanced around, making sure there was no one to hear her slip.

"… _Esgalion_ and I, we've already discussed it, and we're still taking you to your father in Isengard, as planned."

Galith nodded, though she looked a bit puzzled still.

"Why do you not speak his name here? This seems a very safe place. Why do you insist on this deception?"

Mel bit her lip. They had explained to Galith, in the simplest and quickest way possible, that they would be using different names while they were here. Since Galith only ever called Mel "Calenhiril" it hadn't been an issue, but in Boromir's case it was a bit different.

"It's… a really long, complicated story, that I'm not even sure I understand entirely," Mel said finally, "We're just being cautious, that's all."

Galith nodded again, still puzzled, but content. She turned back to the pine tree, trailing her hand slowly down to where the trunk delved into the earth.

"It's so quiet here," she murmured, so low Mel wondered if she was talking to herself, "Peaceful, calm. I think I could be quite content in this place."

Mel felt a jolt in her heart and she reached for Galith's hand, wrapping the long fingers in her own.

"If you are meant to be here, then you can come back," Mel said, "But Galith, contentment is not the same as happiness. Your mother was content, but she wasn't happy. And I think, when you find that place she spoke of, the one where you should grow your garden? You will know it, in a way that will be… undeniable. Until that day comes, we made her a promise."

Galith nodded, absently.

"I know," She turned her gaze back to Mel, now emotionless and vacant, "Do not fear, Calenhiril. I have never shirked my duty."

She swept gracefully to her feet and in three quick strides she was out of the pine grove and out of sight, leaving Mel wondering if she'd just made a huge mistake.

 _Damn… I am going to be a terrible parent…_

* * *

The elves were efficient and preparations went quickly. Within three days everything was arranged and they were set to leave with the dawn. Mel was surprised when Lord Elrond himself came down to the courtyard in the predawn gloom to see them off, and even more surprised when he handed her a leather pouch, much like the hobbits had carried for their pipeweed on the quest.

"For your upset stomach," he explained, smiling warmly.

Mel unwrapped the leather and was greeted with a familiar scent that set her mind and her stomach at ease. Dried mint.

"A pinch in a cup of boiling water should help alleviate your discomfort," he said.

Mel felt tears burning the backs of her eyes and she quickly blinked them away. She had the sudden and overwhelming desire to stay, to have her baby here, in Imladris, where she knew they would be taken care of and loved and cherished. But then Galith slipped into the courtyard, almost slinking in a desire to remain undetected, and the feeling passed. She could not abandon the enting, not even for this. Mel returned the elf-lord's smile as she tucked the pouch safely away in her saddlebag.

"Thank you," she said, taking Lord Elrond's hands and squeezing them firmly, "For everything. You've been more than kind to us. If we can ever do anything for you… if I can ever do anything… You may find us in Ithilien, just a day's ride from Emyn Arnen."

Lord Elrond's smile widened a fraction and he squeezed her hands in return.

"I may yet hold you to that, Calenhiril," he said, "The darkness has passed, but the light has much work yet to do, and I fear that I may not have the strength to see it done."

A shadow passed over his face, a brief glimpse of sorrow and pain, but it quickly lifted. He turned a bit and his eyes found Galith, crouching in the shadow of an archway, looking strangely small and out of place. He placed his hand over his heart reverently and bowed to her.

"It has been an honor, Lady Galith, to host you in my home, even for so brief a time. May you find that which you seek."

The girl's leaves rustled and she edged out of the shadow to return his bow.

"Thank you, Lord Elrond," she said, "I will hold the kindness of the elves always in my heart."

Lord Elrond nodded, and then addressed all of them with a benevolent smile.

"And with that, I wish you safe journey," he said, "But know that you all are forever welcome in this house, should you come this way again. The good will of the Elves and all those who hold a love for things that grow go with you."

"And so do we!"

Mel turned toward the familiar, jovial voices and saw that Elladan and Elrohir had somehow managed to sneak into the courtyard without her noticing, holding the reins of two beautiful, well-supplied horses and grinning like a pair of idiots.

"Father, with your permission, your sons request the honor of accompanying the Calenhiril and Lady Galith as far as the mountain pass," Elrohir said formally, with a bow of deference to his father (whose face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint that Mel thought must run in the family).

"You really don't have to do that…" Mel began, but Elladan was already flapping his hand at her protests.

"Nonsense, we were already considering a sojourn in that direction."

"There's been reports of goblins in the mountains causing a bit of trouble recently," Elrohir added, tugging his horse forward and checking some strap or other.

"Thought we might take a look before it got out of hand," Elladan finished, throwing a cheeky grin over his shoulder, "So really, it's on our way."

Helplessly, Mel looked to Lord Elrond, but he was smiling too and waving away her unvoiced pleas for reason.

"I have learned, Lindel, that it is folly to attempt to turn the minds of my children once their paths are set. Especially my sons."

Mel sighed and exchanged a look with Boromir, but he only shrugged nonchalantly (and in such a way that Mel suspected he might have known about this beforehand, but couldn't be sure). There didn't seem to be much left to say about it. The twins had clearly made up their minds and were not, strictly speaking, asking permission.

"Fine," she said, "But only to the Gap. Then you come straight back."

"Of course!" Elladan said, looking wide-eyed and offended at the insinuation that he might do otherwise.

"Our word of honor," Elrohir agreed, swinging into his saddle, "Now come, the dawn is nearly upon us and it is a fair day for riding!"

Lord Elrond approached each of his sons in turn, touching each of them and speaking in a low murmur, before he turned back and smiled at Mel.

"You are good hands, Lindel Calenhiril," he said, "Fare you well, all of you."

"Thank you," Mel said again, bowing slightly over her saddle.

As the group turned to leave, the twins came up on either side of Mel, boxing her in.

"Now then…" Elrohir began as they passed under the archway and into the forest.

"…concerning the small matter of our slighted honor," Elladan finished.

Mel rolled her eyes and smiled. This was going to be some trip.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Progress was easy through the forest of Imladris and by sundown the little group had made camp on the edge of the wild, the valley below them, the mountains above. They lit a fire and had supper of the provisions given to them, and then the twins unceremoniously hauled Mel to her feet.

"Now to settle the matter, once and for all!" Elladan declared, grinning widely and slipping his sword from its sheath, "Shall we…?"

Before he could finish, Galith had jerked to her feet and launched herself between them, crouched and stiff. Both twins jumped back, eyes wide, and Elladan quickly lowered his sword, holding out a steady, placating hand.

"Lady Galith, forgive me," he said, his voice smooth with no trace of his previous lilting humor, "I did not mean to startle you."

"Galith, it's okay," Mel said, reaching out and touching the enting's stiff arm, "They aren't going to hurt me."

"All the same, perhaps this business should be reconsidered."

Boromir was leaning against a tree and would have looked casual were it not for the hand resting on his sword hilt and the gleam in his eye as he stared at Elladan.

"After all," he said, his voice carefully level, "Circumstances have changed."

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a brief, startled look.

"Forgive us, Lady Lindel," Elrohir said, bowing deeply, "It seems we did not take your particular… condition into account. We would never wish to cause any harm…"

Mel finally caught on to what they were talking about (while trying not to actually say it) and a wave of incredulous outrage made her feel as if her skin had been lit on fire.

"Seriously?" she shouted, making Galith jump, "Are you guys actually serious right now? I am _pregnant_ , not an invalid!"

The twins stared at her, eyes wide, as if she might be a dangerous animal and they couldn't decide whether they should run, or stand and defend themselves.

"We never meant to imply-" Elrohir began, but Mel cut him off.

"Really? Then enlighten me, what _did_ you mean to imply?"

"Lindel, I only think it might be wise…" Boromir tried, but Mel whirled on him.

"Oh _you think_ , do you? Well, _I think_ that you should know better! _You_ of all people! You think the goblins in the mountains are going to just _politely decline_ to fight me if you shout 'Hey, this one's off limits!'? It's a damn good thing Elladan and Elrohir aren't going to actually kill me while we argue about it, because if this were a real fight, I would already be dead!"

Boromir's face hardened into that unreadable mask Mel hated so much and she felt a pang of guilt for shouting at him, which quickly fired itself into more righteous indignation. She whirled and stomped into the woods, fully aware that she was essentially throwing a temper tantrum, but not currently in possession of enough self-control to stop it. She needed to step back, to take a minute and let her temper cool so she could think like a rational human being again.

She didn't go far. She could still see the glow of the campfire through the trees when she stopped, sliding to sit at the base of an old elm, already in his winter sleep. She could feel his presence in her bones, even in his sleep, solid and comforting. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, letting her mind float on the waves of the voices that still spoke, the trees that had not fallen to the lull of winter. The forest enveloped her in soft, gentle murmurs of comfort that helped ease her mind and calm her pounding heart.

After a few minutes breathing the cool night air, she was able to admit that she might have overreacted. Just a bit. She was scared. She didn't really know what she was doing, had no idea how to be this new version of herself, the gonna-be-a-mom version. She had just started getting used to the new Middle-Earth version of herself, and now this… This was new and frightening in a way that nothing else had ever been. But she couldn't, _wouldn't_ , let it paralyze her. She had to keep going, to keep being the only person she knew how to be, because if she let this change her too much, she was afraid she would unravel. Of course, this wasn't just new for her, and she knew that. This was new for Boromir too and, frankly, he seemed to be dealing with it much better than she was. As usual.

"I am frightened as well, Melody."

Boromir's voice jerked her back to the present and her eyes flew open. He was seated against the elm tree, his shoulder nearly touching hers, head leaned back, eyes closed as if he were listening to the forest too. Mel wondered how she hadn't heard him coming and cringed at the thought of being taken by surprise, all alone out here in the woods, by anyone other than Boromir.

"I know how to fight, how to protect, how to defend," he said, his voice low and gentle, almost apologetic, "These things are familiar to me, and I cling to them when I am afraid, when the unknown and unfathomable threaten to overwhelm me. It… has been many long years since… my father… behaved in the way a father ought. Perhaps too long. More than anything, I fear that I am no longer capable of remembering what it means to be the father I wish to be. That you, and our child, deserve."

He took her hand in his, and held it to his chest.

"But all of that is no reason to make you feel as if you were any less than you are. Forgive my fear, Melody."

Mel smiled, any trace of her anger melting with his words, forgiveness almost a forgone conclusion. She leaned over and put her head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry too," she said, "We're gonna figure this out, right? I mean, we're not gonna fight over every little thing, are we?"

"No," Boromir assured her, pulling her closer, "Of course not. We will work through this as we always have: together."

He kissed the top of her head.

"I've got your back," he whispered.

Mel grinned.

"And I've got yours."

There was a single moment of peace between them, when the night sounds surrounded them and Mel felt completely at ease in Boromir's arms.

"So," Boromir said, finally, "About this duel…"

* * *

Boromir and Mel returned to camp, hand in hand. Elladan and Elrohir sat on the far side of the fire, heads bowed together and whispering in rapid Sindarin, with Galith curled up as far from them as possible, eyes narrowed in gleaming suspicion. It took a moment, but Elladan finally looked up and saw that they had returned, elbowing his brother and murmuring something in his ear before they both leapt to their feet, attempting to talk over one another.

"Lady Lindel-"

"Lord Esgalion-"

"We would like to apolo-"

"Allow us to extend our deepest-"

"We, of course, never meant-"

"We would never wish any harm-"

"My lords!" Boromir said, easily silencing their rapid fire speech, "I believe my wife has something she'd like to say."

And with that Boromir swept gallantly aside, leaving the floor to Mel. She put her hands on her hips and exchanged a look between the elven brothers, who both looked as if they had been chastised and were waiting for their punishment. She grinned and unsheathed her sword, the movement so unexpected that both twins fell back a startled step.

"So," she said, still grinning as she fell into a light defensive stance, "Will one duel do, or must I fight the both of you?"

* * *

The matter of the twins' honor was quickly settled in a duel between Elladan and Mel that was more like two children play-fighting than an actual duel. Mel briefly considered protesting when she easily knocked Elladan's sword from his hand and he immediately forfeited the match, but a glance in the direction of one very tense enting put the thought out of her mind. Vowing to her opponent that there would be a rematch and soon, she sheathed her sword and edged her way around the fire to settle next to Galith.

"What's bugging you?" Mel asked.

Galith blinked down at Mel, and then looked down at herself in puzzlement.

"I see no insects or bugs of any kind, Calenhiril."

Mel laughed.

"No, I mean, what's on your mind? You look like something's worrying you."

"Do your kind always fight like that?" Galith asked, gesturing toward the twins with a flick of her long fingers, "Like it were a game?"

Mel smiled and touched the enting's arm reassuringly.

"Galith, we weren't fighting," she said, "That was… well it was like practice. For when the real thing happens."

"But he challenged you."

Mel rolled her eyes.

"Elves, especially _those_ elves, have a tendency toward the dramatic," she said, "He was teasing, Galith. It's nothing to worry about."

Galith pondered this for several seconds, then nodded almost absently.

"Practice…" she murmured, "Practice for what?"

"Goblins, in the immediate future," Boromir said, dropping down beside Mel and laying his sword across his knees for inspection, "Orcs, if the raiding parties are still on the plains of Rohan, but I doubt they'll have ventured this far. There might be bandits on the Greenway as well. Now that the darkness has lifted they might be getting braver…"

"Boro…" Mel cut the name off and corrected herself with a quick glance toward the twins (who didn't seem to be paying them any mind), " _Esgalion_ , don't scare her!"

"I don't mean to unduly frighten you, of course," Boromir said quickly, as if he'd just realized that he was basically talking to a child, "I only wish to prepare you. It is a long journey ahead of us and there are things to be watchful for in the world."

"I understand perfectly," Galith said with a solemn nod, "I know your heart, Son of Gondor, and I know that you wish only what is best for me. I appreciate your honesty."

Boromir's shoulders relaxed, releasing tension Mel hadn't even known was there.

"Thank you, Galith," he said softly, "That means a great deal to me."

An echo of what he had said in the forest came back to Mel.

… _I fear that I am no longer capable of remembering what it means to be the father I wish to be …_

Mel made a show of turning to lay out her bedroll, hiding her smile. Truthfully, the fear of Boromir being anything like his father had never even crossed her mind. Mel couldn't imagine him as anything other than what he was right then: kind, brave, loyal, perhaps a bit blunt in his honesty, but all of it coming from a desire to do good, to _be_ good. He was perfect. And he was going to be a much better parent than she was. Which was good, because she was pretty sure she was going to need all the help she could get.

* * *

For the next few days, Galith kept a suspicious eye and watchful distance from the twins, which did not seem to bother the elves in the slightest. Elladan in particular seemed determined to completely ignore Galith's preference to avoid his company, instead choosing to act as if they were, in fact, the best of friends. At random intervals over the next week he could be heard seeking her out, punctuating their one-sided conversations with overtly pleasant phrases.

"Are you enjoying the journey, Lady Galith?"

"Are you familiar with that bird there, Lady Galith?"

"Lady Galith, did you know that this particular bit of forest…?"

"Lady Galith, look out!"

This last was shouted with such urgency that the enting-girl dropped without any hint of hesitation, and thus narrowly missed an unpleasant encounter with a black arrow. The twins drew their bows in graceful synchronicity and returned shots into the thick underbrush, but the small group of black figures that had been lurking there was already skittering off into the early morning shadows of the mountains. Elladan took off in fleet-footed pursuit, closely followed by his brother, both disappearing over the hill and leaving their companions behind. Boromir quickly grabbed the horses by the bridles and soothed their uneasiness, making sure they hadn't pulled up their pickets in the excitement. Mel backed toward Galith (still crouched close to the ground), sword unsheathed, eyes flicking through the forest. In the last day or so, the dense foliage had begun to give way to rocky foothills and Mel felt exposed among the thinning trees, most of whom were already floating in and out of winter sleep. The early morning was eerily quiet and Mel reached out to touch Galith on the shoulder, for her own reassurance as much as for the enting.

"Are you alright?" she asked, taking her eyes from the trees long enough to see Galith nod, cautiously raising her face from her spindly hands.

"Were those goblins?" the girl asked, her voice strangely smooth and calm considering the circumstances.

"Yes," Mel said, squeezing the girl's arm in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture.

The only indication Mel had that her touch had been registered was a slow uncoiling of Galith's limbs, a gradual releasing of tension in her crouch. The girl's eyes remained fixed in the direction the goblins had gone for a long, silent moment.

"He saved me," she whispered finally, barely more than a breath on the air.

Mel smiled, feeling a little of her own anxiety melt, but before she could speak the twins bounded back over the hill, looking grim.

"We cannot linger here," Elrohir said, in a soft but stern voice, "We were able to overtake most of the scouts, but there is a possibility that a few escaped. They will undoubtedly report our position to the hunting party waiting in the mountains."

"You should go after them," Mel said, thinking it was obvious and wondering why they were back here at all actually, "Isn't that what you came here to do? Hunt goblins?"

The twins exchanged a sheepish look.

"We felt…" Elrohir began.

"Uncomfortable," Elladan provided.

"…leaving the three of you to fend for yourselves out here..."

"In the wild..."

"On your own..."

"In your condition..."

The two elves squirmed uncomfortably as Mel flicked her gaze between them, but finally she just rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she sighed, trying not to sound exasperated, "What should we do? Just keep following the Greenway?"

The silence was thick as they all felt the inevitability of their situation fall over them like a wet wool blanket.

"We could make for Tharbad," Elrohir said, almost as if thinking aloud, "We are within a day's hard ride, the ruins are defensible if not habitable, and if we can cross the Greyflood we might stand a chance of outrunning the goblins altogether. They won't dare try to cross, not there."

Boromir and Mel exchanged a look. They'd had this conversation before, not too long ago. Mel felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

"It would be dangerous," Boromir said cautiously, his eyes never leaving Mel's, "The ruins are an unrecognizable pile of rubble and the ford is littered with debris, dangerous to cross even in the best of circumstances."

"We have crossed the Greyflood before at Tharbad," Elladan said, "It is difficult, but not impossible. The water will barely come to Lady Galith's middle, I think."

He grinned up at Galith, but the enting only narrowed her eyes at him without response.

Elladan's assessment did little to ease Mel's mind about the situation. Galith could easily look any of them in the eye from horseback. If his estimation of the water level was correct, that meant the horses would be nearly chest deep in rushing current. And that was where Boromir had lost his horse before, trying to cross the river.

 _But he survived_ _…_ a little voice whispered in the back of her mind, _and the horse too, remember? Deor? Safe in Rohan right now_ _…_

But Deor was strong and broad and not easily brushed aside by water, or anything else Mel imagined. Would their own horses fair as well? Would Galith? Would Mel and, by association, their unborn child?

Mel's stomach rolled inconveniently and she resisted the urge to put her hand there, taking a deep breath through her nose and looking up into the deep blue sky, the sun glimmering at the tops of the trees, just a breath away from breaking out and shining down on them in full. The morning was wasting.

"Do we have a choice?" she asked, still staring into the lightening sky.

There was a long pause.

"No, my lady."

It was one of the twins, but without looking Mel couldn't be sure which one. She nodded, squared her shoulders, and finally dropped her gaze to the group surrounding her, waiting for a decision that was already made.

"Then Tharbad it is."

The sun spilled over the treetops as they mounted up and headed into the forest. They traveled for a while in silence along the rocky path that passed for the road these days, but Mel watched with surprised fascination as Galith, rather than staying close to her or Boromir as she had for the past week, chose to instead to keep stride with Elladan. The elf did not appear to notice the girl's close proximity, but when she finally spoke he did not seem surprised.

"You saved me," the enting said, a matter-of-fact statement with a hint of bewildered puzzlement.

Elladan glanced at the girl and grinned.

"Why, of course, Lady Galith!" he said merrily, "We are friends, are we not?"

"Friends?" she said, sounding doubtful.

"Certainly!" Elladan said, "And as your friend, it is my duty to make certain that no harm befalls you."

Galith considered that for a moment.

"I've never had a friend," she said finally, "I am not certain how to proceed."

"Well, it's quite simple really," Elladan explained, clearly enjoying himself, "We could go in a traditional direction: you thank me for saving you, and then I say something about how little trouble it was, and from there we proceed into more menial small talk. Or we could continue in a more roundabout way, striking up the conversation first, which then at some point in the near future leads to thanks for the rescue. Or we could simply bypass the whole business entirely and…"

"Thank you."

Elladan was effectively cut off and Mel was pleased to see him stiffen a bit at the grave sincerity of Galith's tone. He cleared his throat and, solemnly, with not one hint of his former merriment, he replied.

"You're welcome."

* * *

When Elrohir had said it was a hard day's ride to Tharbad he hadn't been joking. The road was broken, in places barely usable, and they didn't stop once, pushing the horses as hard as they dared to ride straight through. The sun had begun its meandering way down to the western horizon and, just as Mel thought they would have to stop and camp at last, the trees fell away and in the last of the failing light Mel got her first glimpse of the ruins of Tharbad.

There was very little of it left. What remained of the road led past the remnants of a wall that only extended a few feet to either side before crumbling out of existence. Several hundred feet beyond that, Mel could see where the town might have been built up in years gone by, but there wasn't much still standing. She could feel the forest slowly reclaiming what it once had, the process slow and full of bitterness against the long dead inhabitants. Something had been done to the forest here. And the forest had a long memory.

But it was the river that concerned Mel most. What was left of the town pressed up against its banks, the water glittering in the last of the sunlight, spreading out of sight in all directions. Mel could barely make out a few pillars of stone thrust out of the water at varying heights, all that remained of what might have once been a great bridge.

The company came to an uneasy stop just outside the crumbling wall, and Mel reached out to pat her horse's neck, feeling the sweat streaked in her coat. It was suddenly quite clear to her that neither of them would survive if they attempted to ford that river in their current condition. She caught Boromir's eye, his expression hard and almost pained. He knew it too.

"We can go no further tonight," he said, a general announcement to the company at large.

The twins turned back to him in surprise, then exchanged a look. Boromir seemed neither impressed nor concerned with them.

"The horses are exhausted," he said, "And even fresh horses would have difficulty fording Greyflood in the dark. We should take refuge in the town until morning."

"Won't the goblins catch up to us in the night?" Galith asked, her voice filled with puzzled innocence.

The other four travelers exchanged reluctant glances. Galith looked into each of their faces, then slowly nodded.

"Oh… I see."

"We'll make camp in the city," Elladan said, edging closer to Galith in an almost unconscious act of comfort, "There are several buildings in the heart of the town that are still mostly intact. With no fire to guide them to us, if we are very quiet…"

"And very lucky…" Elrohir murmured.

"…we may escape their notice," Elladan said, shooting a dirty look at his brother, "It's unlikely they'll go to very much trouble for five weary travelers, I shouldn't think."

"Unless they've nothing better to do," Boromir muttered and this time it was Mel shooting dirty looks. Boromir cringed and dropped his head in silent apology.

Galith had watched all of this with wide eyes and a stoic expression. She seemed to be drinking it in, examining their situation with all the emotion of a scientist watching another species interact. It made Mel nervous. Was the enting frightened? Because she should be, yet she showed no signs. Mel was sure starting to feel scared. They were in the middle of nowhere, no chance of a daring rescue in sight, with a dangerous ford on one hand and a goblin hunting party on the other. And it was getting darker by the minute.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" she said, dismounting and taking her horse by the reins, "Let's get out of the open."

The others followed her example and dismounted before entering the ruined remains of Tharbad. Once they reached the town proper, they made their way carefully through the broken, meandering streets, past freestanding walls with gaping holes that might have once been doors or windows, timbers holding up roofs that had long rotted away. They traveled in a silent hush that not even bird or beast seemed willing to break. If it were not for the wary muttering of the trees and shrubs that were slowly reclaiming the town, Mel might have questioned whether anything at all were alive here. She wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if they had turned a corner and come face-to-face with a ghost or two. The whole place gave her the creeps, and she rubbed her arms to dispel the goosebumps creeping across her skin.

Each potential campsite they passed was thoroughly inspected by their elven guides and found lacking, the twins murmuring to each other in rapid Sindarin all the while. When it got so dark that she could hardly see to follow the road, Mel thought she was going to have to speak up, but Boromir lost his patience first.

"Here," he said decisively, coming to a halt, "This is good."

The twins turned back to stare at him, and then looked at where he had stopped. Three walls remained of what must have once been a decent sized house. There were still remnants of partitions blocking off where separate rooms had been and a stack of bricks in one of the front corners indicated what might have been a fireplace. In fact, now that Mel was looking at it properly, even in the fading light, it reminded her a bit of the house they had left behind in Ithilien. A wave of something similar to homesickness surprised her. She and Boromir had only lived in the little house for a few months, but it already felt like home. And she missed it. She wondered, briefly, if there would be much more left of it than what remained of its Tharbad doppelganger, but she quickly pushed the thought from her mind. It was safe. The valley was safe. She had to believe that or she might lose her nerve.

"Yes," she agreed, turning to the twins, "This is good. We can stay here."

Again, the elves exchanged a glance, but said nothing, only took the reins of the horses and led them around to the back of the broken house to be tethered. Then they agreed to hold watch, allowing their companions to sleep as much as possible. Mel didn't think she would manage as much as a wink, even though she felt exhausted. Her nerves were keyed up too high, jumping at every little sound in the dark. Despite the open sky above them, she felt as trapped as she had felt in the mines of Moria. And just as useless.

Galith had curled up in a far corner of their shelter, her eyes wide despite her apparently relaxed pose. To keep from pacing, Mel sat down next to her, pulling her legs up to her chest and laying her cheek on her knees. Neither said anything, but Mel hoped maybe just her presence might bring the girl some comfort. After a moment of murmured conversation with the elves, Boromir joined them, wrapping an arm around Mel and tucking her into his side. For a while there was no sound but the gentle sound of water in the distance. Despite her tensed up nerves, Mel felt her eyes drift closed...


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** Before I forget, I just want to take a minute to thank everyone who has favorited, subscribed, and reviewed this story so far! I'm so happy you're all enjoying what I'm doing so much and I only hope I can continue to amuse and entertain you :) Alright, onward!

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Three**

A slender hand shook Mel out of her doze and she jerked upright, blinking her eyes into focus. She saw a single finger held to elven lips, though in the dark it was difficult to tell if it belonged to Elladan or Elrohir. But even with the grim expression, the familiar face was soothing and she relaxed under the firm grip on her shoulder. Once the elf was certain of her silence, he moved his finger from his lips to his ear, then made a circular motion in the air. Mel cocked her head and listened, now fully awake. She could hear it. Subdued chittering and cackles, the scrape of claws and scattering of pebbles, all echoing over the stones of the ruins.

The goblins had caught up to them.

It sounded like they were everywhere, all around them. The elf's finger rested against his lips again as he reached out to tug Mel to her feet. Galith stirred and, in a panic, Mel did something she had not yet attempted. She reached for the enting's mind.

" _Be still, Galith."_

She heard the rustle of leaves, but the enting didn't respond. Mel tried again.

" _Listen. Listen, but don't be afraid."_

There was another slight rustle. The elf's quick eyes darted over Mel's shoulder, but he said nothing. Mel held her breath.

" _I hear them,"_ Galith's voice echoed back in her head, hesitant and uncertain, _"I hear them, Calenhiril."_

Mel let out her breath in a slow, silent sigh and brushed her hand against the enting's shoulder. Her eyes were adjusting to the minimal light of the crescent moon and she could see two figures crouched low beside the ruins of the outer wall, one slim and coiled, the other broad and stable.

" _Be still, now,"_ she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt, _"Wait here."_

She touched the still unnamed twin's arm and made a small gesture toward Galith. He nodded once and shifted, his body shielding the girl from whatever might come. Mel squeezed his hand in thanks, then slipped away to crouch next to the broad shadowy figure of Boromir peering over the wall. She touched his arm and he stiffened slightly, but relaxed again when he saw it was her. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing, only inclined his head over the wall. Mel steeled her nerves before she rolled forward to peek over the line of broken stone.

At first all she could see were indeterminate shapes and movement among the static piles of rubble. She frowned and narrowed her focus to a single area, a small group of shapes moving back and forth through the ruins of the buildings, the soft sound of scraping stone and clinking metal muffled and distant. As her focus sharpened she saw… something. Something big. Something crawling through the rubble on four powerful legs.

A warg. The goblins had a warg.

She dropped back behind the wall, her heart hammering in her chest, her breath a short, stuttering staccato. A warg. A damn scent hound. _Shit._ If the warg caught their scent they were dead. They were all dead. They might _already_ be dead.

She met Boromir's eyes and could see the same thoughts and fears mirrored in his face, even in the dim light. For some reason, that comforted her. They had gotten through much worse than a goblin pack and a warg. They could get through this. They just had to think…

One of the horses screamed, and there was a clatter and a cackling cacophony.

" _Run!_ " the twins shouted in unison.

Everyone leaped to their feet, swords drawn together with a satisfying ring of steel, and they surged from their hiding place just as the warg let loose a chilling howl. Mel's eyes were not quick enough to adjust to the deep shadows of the ruins, so she made sure to stay just behind one of the sharp-eyed elves, putting her feet only where his had gone before. She kept her mind open to Galith, like a tether to keep her from getting lost, but the girl's long legs made keeping pace with them easy. Boromir had his sword out before him, but his other hand kept reaching for a place at his side, fluttering momentarily and then dropping again.

 _His horn_ , Mel's mind supplied absently, a thought so completely out of place among the screeches and chattering growing closer every second. _He's trying to find the horn of Gondor. He's trying to call for help._

They twisted and turned, ducking through broken remains of buildings and alleyways, trying to lose the hunting party in the maze of the abandoned city. But as vast as Tharbad was, it was not big enough, nor were they fast enough, to outrun the nose of the warg, whose persistent howls grew closer with every gasping moment. Eventually they would have to turn and fight, and Mel could only hope that the elf she was following was the strategic Elrohir, rather than his slightly more reckless and over-confident brother. They needed high ground, a narrow space, somewhere to stow Galith, a way for the enting to escape if nothing else, to reach the river and continue on her own if need be…

The girl stumbled beside her, crying out, a rough, high-pitched sound that brought everyone up short. Mel was at her side in an instant, a hand on her arm.

"Are you…?"

"I'm fine," Galith snapped, jerking from Mel's touch.

Mel wanted to say something else, to make sure, but another high-pitched howl cut her off.

"Come on!" the elf shouted, "This way!"

They ducked into a nearby building, the crumbling ruins of what might have once been a grand home, almost a mansion. Once they were all inside, the elf and Boromir started shoving a large stone table across the entryway, toward the empty door. Once it became clear what they were trying to accomplish, Galith lent her own more substantial weight to the task, wedging the table into the narrow archway as tightly as possible, making the door impassable without either breaking the solid marble or bringing down the whole wall. With this done, the elf whirled and scrambled up the remains of the spiraling stone steps headed for the second floor.

"Are you mad?" Boromir shouted, "We'll be trapped!"

"Trust me!" the elf's light voice echoed back and suddenly Mel knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was Elladan they were following. She had to try really hard not to despair.

Reluctantly, Boromir clattered up after the elf, Mel and Galith following close behind. The enting had to bend nearly double to squeeze through the narrow stairwell, but she said nothing, a hard, determined look on her face.

They reached the top floor and Elladan beckoned to them from a balcony that, frankly, looked less than stable.

"We can lose them through here!" he said, gesturing out into what looked to Mel like empty air, "At least for a while."

"You _are_ mad," Boromir grumbled, but he stepped gingerly onto the balcony and leaned over the cracked railing, peering into the dark.

"I'm not, we'll make it!" Elladan said, his eyes bright with eagerness, "We can drop down to the roofs below and reach the street on the other side."

"Where's Elrohir?" Mel asked, looking around desperately for the more reasonable of the two brothers, "This is insane!"

But Elrohir was nowhere to be found. When had they lost him? Was he trapped somewhere? But Elladan didn't seem concerned, waving his hand in a slightly frantic gesture.

"He'll be along, we need to go!" he said, his eyes flicking maniacally to the stairs, the balcony rail, the empty dark, "We haven't much time before…"

A warbling howl bounced against the stone, making the warg sound both impossibly close and unexpectedly distant.

"I'll go," Galith's voice was sharp in the deafening silence that followed, "I am the tallest of us. I will go first and help you to safety."

"You are _not…_ " Mel began to protest, but Galith was already halfway on to the balcony. The stone made an eerie crack beneath her added weight and Elladan skipped back from the railing, hugging the building's outside wall instead. Boromir didn't flinch, only planted his feet a little more firmly and held out his hand to the enting.

"It is not really so far," he said soothingly, "Come, I'll show you."

"You can't be serious!" Mel said, rubbing her sweating palms against the leg of her pants and flicking her eyes between the balcony and the gaping maw of the stairwell. She could hear scrambling and snuffles echoing up out of the dark, along with a steady chittering of noise that made her skin crawl. She edged away from the dark archway and clenched her fists to keep from shaking.

There was a loud crack and a crash, and Mel's eyes jerked back toward the balcony, her heart in her throat. But it was only a piece of the railing, crushed under Galith's weight as she leaned to get a better look over the edge. Rather than acting frightened by this sudden collapse, Galith tilted her head and then used her hands to widen the crumbling gap enough for her to pass through easily.

"This isn't safe," Mel muttered, feeling as if she were talking only to herself for all the attention anyone was giving her.

"Would you rather we die cowering in this dark hole, my lady?"

Elladan had appeared soundlessly at her side and spoke low enough that only she could hear. His eyes were sharp in the dark.

"I would rather not die at all," Mel replied bitterly, thinking of her little house in the valley, of the life that had been promised her if she could just do this one thing, this one simple thing. Find the entwives. And now… _now…_ She resisted the urge to touch her stomach and felt a hot lump of anger in her chest.

Elladan seemed to guess the direction of her thoughts, because he smiled, a little recklessly perhaps but still kind.

"Have faith, Lady Lindel," he said, "We may see you safely home yet."

"I'm down!"

Mel turned toward Galith's cry, surprised. The enting was nowhere to be seen. Boromir was leaning cautiously out over the opening in the railing, staring into the empty blackness.

"There is a low wall," Galith said, "Narrow but sturdy. It's not far to the ground. Come!"

"Do you see?" Elladan said, with a cheeky grin, "Have faith, my lady! We are not yet abandoned!"

Then he flew across the floor on light feet, went down in a slide across the balcony, twisted himself over the edge and dropped into oblivion with a shout of triumph.

"Show off," Mel grumbled, but a loud crack from the stairway sent her scurrying after the elf, not quite as gracefully and with a hand from Boromir to lower her into the waiting arms of the enting below.

Boromir quickly followed and the four of them were again running through the maze of back alleys, vaulting low walls that might have once been impenetrable dead ends. Elladan cupped his hands to his mouth and let loose a light-hearted bird call, which was answered almost immediately. It sounded like it came from all directions, but Elladan veered confidently left and called again. The call was answered and they picked up speed, following the signaling bird calls until they finally emerged at a crossroads and, with a clatter of hooves and a piercing whinny, Elrohir plunged into view, leading two of their horses and astride another. Mel's mare was nowhere to be seen.

Without any hint of prior discussion, Mel found herself tossed up behind the elf, clutching at his cloak to keep from toppling over the other side. She looked down, bewildered. Boromir was staring up at her, his expression stony. Mel's already pounding heart lurched.

"Esgalion?" she gasped, still trying to catch her breath.

The warg howled and Boromir's head whipped to check behind him, but then his eyes fixed on Elrohir.

"Make sure they reach the Gap," he said, "And beyond if necessary. Do whatever you must."

The elf nodded sharply, tightening his grip on the reins.

"On my honor," he said, "I swear."

"Wait, what?" Mel's head was spinning, not wanting to accept the words she was hearing, "What's going on?"

"They cannot track us if we split up."

Boromir spoke the words in a sharp staccato, his eyes hard as flint. It made Mel's blood run cold.

"The warg can only follow one trail. Elladan and I will draw them away from the crossing."

"Split up?!" Mel cried, nearly a shriek, panic rising up her throat, "What are you talking about, you're coming with us!"

Boromir took her hand and crushed it to his lips, his eyes squeezed shut as if memorizing the feel of her skin. There was another chilling howl, closer this time, and a shout, challenging and defiant. The horse tossed its head and snorted anxiously.

"Go," Boromir ordered, taking the reins of the other two horses from Elrohir's hand.

"Two days," the elf said, "Elladan will know the place. Two days!"

"No, wait…"

But Elrohir kicked the horse into a gallop and Mel was forced to clutch both hands to the elf's cloak to keep her seat.

"Wait, stop, _Boromir!_ "

Her scream echoed through the ruins of the dead city, mingling with shouts and cackles and the sound of clashing steel, lost to the night. They were already out of sight, running with a desperate speed born of equine terror, Galith stretching her long legs to keep pace beside them. Galith. The panic that had threatened to choke Mel suddenly exploded into blinding clarity. The enting… the enting needed her, _Galith_ needed her. She gripped Elrohir's cloak tighter as they careened through the broken streets of Tharbad, but she turned her head so she could see the girl running beside them.

"Alright?" Mel shouted against the wind whipping by her face.

Galith nodded, but said nothing. She had been eerily silent and stoic throughout this ordeal and only now was Mel able to focus enough to see it.

"We're approaching the crossing!" Elrohir said, taking a sharp turn down a narrow street, "Take care to make as little noise as possible, the water will carry any sound to the ears of our enemies!"

Mel shut her mouth and buried her face in Elrohir's back, trying not to think about how much she wished it was Boromir's back she was clinging to, trying to muffle the sounds of clashing metal and battle cries fading further and further into the distance.

They plunged into the river without warning. By the time Mel had jerked upright the water was lapping at the heels of her boots, surging up to soak her to the knees. The river rushed around them and she gripped tight to Elrohir, her heart pounding as the water rose, tugging at her legs. She frantically searched for Galith, but the enting didn't seem to be having any trouble navigating the swirling currents. The water hadn't even reached her knees.

The horse snorted and pawed beneath them, hooves scrambling for purchase on the bed of the river as Elrohir urged them on. Mel could no longer hear the sounds of pursuit, everything swallowed up by the river's churning roar. Looking across to the far side the water seemed peaceful, calm, stars twinkling prettily on the reflective surface, but the truth of the river's force was evident in every white-frothed current that slammed into them, over and over.

They were nearly past the halfway point when the horse lost its footing. Mel didn't even have time to cry out before the water closed over her head and she was lost in swirling darkness. She had a moment of pure panic, a flash of terror as she remembered the sensation of being lost in swirling water, the jerk of a cruel orc hand in her hair pulling her through the numbing cold…

But it was only for a second, and then she was scrambling back into the present, kicking away from the thrashing panicked horse, desperate to either find the bottom of the river or break the surface. Her lungs were burning, painfully aware of the fact that she had not even had the chance to gasp for air before the river had swallowed her. She forced down another stab of panic and kicked off her boots, desperate to lose the weight that would pull her further down into the swirling black. It was impossible to tell which way was up in the dark, but she kicked her legs anyway, hoping against hope…

Just as Mel was beginning to feel her consciousness fading, her hand broke the water's surface. Frantically she clawed upward, finally shoving her head above the water just long enough for a deep, shuddering gasp before she was thrust into a downward rapid and plunged into darkness again. But it was easier to find her way back to the surface this time, and she managed to take two gasping breaths and snatch a glance around. She had lost Elrohir, there was no sign of him in the swirling dark. There was no sign of Galith either, but if the enting was as solid as Mel suspected, she would be on the other shore by now. Safe. At least, Mel _hoped_ she was safe…

The river dragged her through another small series of rapids and when she broke the surface again, her first clear thought was that she had to reach land. Her body was already numb, her limbs heavy dead weight, but she forced her arms into movement and kicked her legs sluggishly, maneuvering in the direction of the opposite shore. Her progress was painstakingly slow and at times it seemed that the river bank was actually moving _away_ from her, but she kept at it, kept pushing, knowing that if she didn't reach the far side in short order, her body would freeze solid in the icy water. She had to keep moving, if only to keep blood pumping through her veins.

When her feet hit the rocky bottom, it took several floundering moments for Mel to realize it. She slipped and splashed back into the shallow water, but somehow she managed to grip the river bottom with her numb fingers and pull herself up, crawling laboriously until she finally reached the grass on the far side of the rocks, coughing and vomiting up more water than she would have thought possible. For several seconds that felt like hours, she lay curled up in the grass, exhausted, her eyes slowly slipping closed…

But something kept jerking her back to consciousness. It was in her mind, something calling her back over and over, and at first she couldn't place what it was. Her thoughts were a mangled clutter and all she wanted was for the noise to stop so she could rest, so she could just lay still and rest. But it wouldn't stop. Instead it got louder, and louder, until finally it was like a thousand- _thousand_ voices shouting the same thing again and again:

" _Calenhiril, get up, Calenhiril, get up, Calenhiril, GET UP!"_

Mel shot upright, her body spasming painfully with the motion. She was heavy and slow, but she managed to scramble to her feet. She had to keep moving. The trees were clamoring in her head, pulling her forward and she stumbled after them, her legs like tree stumps at the ends of her body. But she was moving. The trees kept shouting in her head, guiding her in a jumbled way, and even though she didn't know where they were leading her, she kept going, if only to keep from sinking to the forest floor and slipping away into a nothingness that she knew she would never wake up from.

She didn't know how long she wandered this way. At some point, a faraway part of her mind acknowledged that it was significantly brighter than it had been previously. The sun was rising, the stars slowly winking away, replaced by layers of pink and orange in the deep blue horizon over the mountain range. She stumbled along, using the trees to support her, and in the gradual glow of the coming dawn she could see that her hands were leaving red streaks along the tree bark. She paused and looked down at her palm, criss-crossed with deep cuts and covered in dirt and debris. She couldn't feel any of it, but some dim part of her mind told her this was bad. She looked sluggishly at her bare feet. There was a trail of red zig-zagging its way behind her through the forest. This was also bad. But before she could put much more thought toward it, she was wracked with a nearly heart-stopping spasm and she lurched on, knowing there was nothing else to do. She had to keep moving. And the trees kept urging her on, leading her ever forward through the blurred maze of forest.

And then there was a dizzying moment when she put out her hand and there was no tree to catch her. She staggered out into open air and slipped on the damp rocks underfoot, just managing to catch her balance before her bare feet touched the water. The trees had led her back to the river. She blinked for several seconds at the deceptively calm currents swirling by, before another spasm locked up her muscles and she sank to her knees on the rocks. She wrapped her cloak about her tightly, but it was still soaked through and did nothing but make her shiver harder, her teeth clenched so tightly she thought her jaw might fuse together. She could barely hear the trees through the pain pounding in her head and body, but she knew what they were saying, knew that she should get up, that she should keep moving, but for the life of her she couldn't think why, why she should keep going, why she should keep trying…

...the baby. What about the baby?

Her stomach clenched painfully and she cried out, tears leaking from the corners of her screwed-shut eyes. She scrambled with leaden limbs, trying to force her way back onto stiff, cramped legs. She stumbled, fell, tried again, a terrifying fire burning inside her. She could not die. She had to protect her baby. Boromir's baby. She could not die…

"Lindel!"

The voice was faint and distant and barely registered through the pain. She was going to die, all alone, and she had just left him, left Boromir behind, and she wanted…

"Lindel!"

The voice was getting closer, vaguely familiar but calling out an unfamiliar name. Someone else lost to the river, someone else trying to survive, someone else hoping against hope…

"Nan aear adh in elin, you are frozen through…"

Strong arms pulled her up from the rocky ground and a shudder pulsed through her so strong that her teeth clattered, but the arms held, pulling her close and keeping her together as the shivers spasmed through her.

"Shhh, odulen, odulen gwathelt-nîn, davo eithad anech…"

Elrohir. The name came slowly to Mel's muddled brain. The trees… The trees had brought her to Elrohir. But on the heels of that name came another, a name that wracked her with panic.

"G… Ga…" she tried to speak, but her jaw felt locked together and her lips didn't want to form the word, the single name that was just on the tip of her frozen tongue.

"Hush now, hush…" Elrohir murmured, tugging away her soaked cloak and wrapping her close in his arms again as another shiver wracked her, "All in good time, vinimë, all in good time…"

"Ga… Galith…" she managed to spit out through gritted teeth, "Galith…"

"We'll find her, gwathelt-nîn, she can't be far, be still now…"

 _We'll find her…_

That meant the enting was not with Elrohir. She was out there, in the unfamiliar wild, alone. She had trusted Mel to keep her safe. And Mel had let her down.

Another shiver locked up her muscles and she bit back the urge to scream. She was beginning to feel a painful tingling in her toes and fingertips. She gritted her teeth and willed her body to work faster. She needed to find her enting.

* * *

Galith watched as the horse fell into the river, taking the elf and the Calenhiril with it. She stood still and waited for them to emerge again. She waited for what felt like an eternity, the water swirling around her stiff legs. They never emerged. And she remembered the Calenhiril's thought, the last thought she'd heard before her mind had snapped closed.

"… _continue on her own if need be…"_

Suddenly feeling terribly exposed, Galith turned and waded across the river, rushing into the trees lining the opposite shore. Once she was safely within the cover of the woods, her legs seemed to grow heavy, pulling her down until she was curled on the forest floor, her branches and leaves shivering. The trees around her provided good cover, but they were not familiar, they weren't safe. She had left safety leagues behind, trees that had known and cared for her since she was a sapling in the earth. She had left them, her family, all for a foolish hope, a children's story. And now she was alone and lost in a world that was huge and terrifying.

"… _continue on her own if need be…"_

But she couldn't. She knew she couldn't. She didn't know where to go or what to do. She needed Calenhiril. She needed the Son of Gondor. She needed… her friends.

"Please…" she whispered to the cold, empty night, "Please… Don't leave me alone… Please…"

* * *

 **Elvish Translations**

 _(all translations are Sindarin unless otherwise noted)_

Nan aear adh in elin- By the sea and the stars

odulen- I'm here

gwathelt-nîn- my sworn-sister

davo eithad anech- let me help you

vinimë(Q)- little one


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:** There are a few words of Sindarin scattered throughout this chapter, I've put translations in a note at the bottom :)

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Four**

Elladan let out a triumphant whoop as the first ray of sunshine burst over the mountain range, flooding the little wooded valley with light. Boromir allowed himself a small smile at the elf's youthful enthusiasm. Though the goblins had given up pursuit at least an hour before, he had to admit that the light of the new day did much to improve his mood. They were alive, which was more than he had hoped for.

The plan to divert the goblin hunting party had worked better than he would have thought possible. Elladan had apparently been itching for a fight ever since the goblins had caught wind of them and had thrown himself whole-heartedly into the fray, darting in among the edges of their group just long enough to incite confusion before slipping away again, leading them ever on and away from the river where his brother rode hard for the crossing with his precious charges. Boromir had done little but follow and hold the elf's back as he jumped in and out of encounters with a light-footed grace and a feral grin.

They had steadily led the majority of the raiders on a merry chase through the ruins before finally bursting out of the encircling walls and riding hard for the forest, the goblins sufficiently infuriated and hot on their heels. But the forest was familiar ground for the elf and he led Boromir through the trees with a confidence that only centuries of experience can lend. The warg howled and pursued, but the goblins could only follow for so long. As furious as they might have been, they were still creatures of darkness. And even the most troublesome of quarry was not worth the pain of the impending dawn.

Boromir patted the neck of his horse absently. When the sounds of pursuit had faded away to even the elf's keen ears, they had sheltered in this tiny valley, allowing the horses a little bit of rest and water from a small stream that wended its way through the trees. The light that now filled the valley meant they were safe. But it also meant they had a journey ahead of them, back to the crossing at Tharbad.

"We'll make good time," Elladan said cheerfully as he saddled his mare and checked the tack, "There's an outcropping of rock on the other side of the river, just to the south. It is a familiar place to us, Elrohir will meet us there."

Boromir nodded absently, checking the straps of his own horse for a third time. Elladan slapped him on the back, bringing him out of his daze.

"Don't worry, Esgalion!" he said cheerfully, "The worst is over now. You'll be reunited with your feisty little bessig before sundown!"

Boromir forced a smile for the elf and uttered some general phrase of agreement, but in his heart he knew he would not rest easy until Melody was once again within his sight. The sooner they were on their way, the sooner that would happen.

They mounted up and struck out from the valley at a walk. The slow pace set Boromir's nerves on edge, but he gritted his teeth and kept a firm hand on the reins as his horse snorted and tossed his head anxiously, sensing his frustration. The pace was agonizing, but he knew it was for the best. If they exhausted the horses they'd never be able to make the river crossing. It was difficult enough with well rested horses, on exhausted mounts it would be impossible. The sun climbed steadily into the clear blue sky as they meandered through the forest, Elladan leading the way, occasionally filling the silence by humming snatches of that silly "tra-la-la-lally" song that had annoyed Gimli so much. But without his brother it seemed lacking in depth and the bits of melody quickly trailed off, as if Elladan himself sensed that he could not do the song justice on his own.

The sun had not quite reached its mid-point when they reached the walls of Tharbad once more. They dismounted and led the horses on a winding path through the broken buildings. Elladan was humming again, his voice warbling nervously and echoing eerily off the stones, only managing a few bars before he drifted back into silence. Boromir wasn't sure which was worse. He could feel his hackles rising, his eyes darting around the hidden corners of the deserted city, waiting for some stray remnant of the hunting party to spring. None did, but he was only too glad when they finally reached the edge of the city and emerged at the water's edge. The river flowed lazily by, the only sign of its danger the swirling eddies that rushed past the broken stone supports that had once held the bridge. Boromir allowed his horse to drink, but not much.

"There's no sign of them on the other side," Elladan said, his eyes trained on the opposite shore as he too allowed his horse a short drink, "They'll be waiting for us at the rock formation."

Boromir only nodded. He didn't say what he was thinking, that anything could have happened in the night, crossing the dangerous water in the dark, pursued by goblins. He didn't dare contradict Elladan's optimism and forcefully pushed his dark thoughts aside. He would know… if something had happened, he would _know._ He held on to that certainty with every fiber of his being.

They remounted and together they plunged into the rushing river.

* * *

Galith woke to the sound of unfamiliar bird song. She had remained curled at the base of an old oak tree for several hours, not truly needing the rest, but with no other prospects to pursue. She had not wanted to admit it to herself, but the truth was she had been waiting for Calenhiril to hear her plea, and come running to her aid, that wide, pretty smile spread across her sun-browned face. But she had not come. Just as Galith had known that she wouldn't come. She felt a sudden flurry of anger, that the Calenhiril had ripped her from her home and everything she loved, only to abandon her now, with her task half-completed. But though her anger burned hot, it was short-lived and once it had thoroughly burned itself out, she was at a loss for what to do next. She knew that Calenhiril had meant for her to make her way on her own, but what was her way? She only had the vaguest idea that she should be heading south, but there was an awful lot of south and not much of it had appeared welcoming from a great distance. There was a pass, somewhere in the long line of unforgiving mountain range, but she had not the slightest idea where to look for it. And whenever she thought of these things, despair threatened to pull her down again. She wished for her mother. She wished for her friends. She wished for Calenhiril.

The sun was threatening midday when she heard voices. She jerked upright, straining to hear. Yes, voices, the words garbled by distance, but a light tone and then a laugh that had her on her feet and plunging through the trees back toward the river.

"Oh come now, Esgalion, that wasn't so bad! A good cold plunge is good for the…"

Galith burst out of the forest and slid to a stop on the rocky shore as Elladan's voice trailed off. He was staring at her, a grin frozen to his face that did not match his startled eyes.

"Galith?"

The broad, bedraggled back of the Son of Gondor turned, the better to see what had struck the elf dumb, and his eyes and expression matched perfectly, wide and frightened. The enting started to tremble, her leaves rustling uncontrollably.

"She's gone," she breathed, the words sticking in her throat, "Calenhiril is gone."

* * *

Mel woke to the merry crackling of a fire close by. Her eyelashes felt glued together, but she forced her eyes open anyway and blinked a few times, trying to remember where she was. She was wrapped in two cloaks with a lumpy travel pack under her head as a pillow. She could hear water running and the soft whisper of trees. She couldn't remember falling asleep, the last thing she remembered was…

Cold. Rushing water, panic, and _cold_ , so cold and lost and… Galith!

She shot upright and her vision swam, her head pounding as piercing sunlight stabbed her retinas. She swayed and tried to put out a hand to steady herself, but her arms were hopelessly tangled in the folds of the cloaks. She had a single moment of disorienting panic when she thought she might actually fall off the face of the earth, but a pair of strong arms caught her and held her steady.

"Easy, vinimë, easy…" a soothing voice murmured, "Be still now, you should rest…"

"Galith…" she gasped, her eyes still shut tight against the blinding sunlight, "Elrohir, where's Galith?"

"With any luck far up river from us," he said, rearranging the cloaks so that they were still wrapped tightly around her, "Once you've had some food and drink, we will strike out for our rendezvous with my brother and your herven, though the trek will not be easy without our horse…"

"We can't just leave her here!" Mel shouted, shoving away his fussing hands and attempting to scramble out of the tangle of cloaks, "She's alone, probably scared out of her mind, we can't just…"

"We are at least three leagues from the crossing, Lindel."

Elrohir's calm, rational voice cut her off. Mel stared at him. He was watching her very closely, his dark eyes searching, making certain that his words were getting through.

"If we trek back the way we came, it will take the rest of the day. The goblins will return once dusk settles, endeavoring to pick up our trail once more. If I know my tôr pe-channas, and I think I do, he will have incited them to rage rather than retreat. We must endeavor to put as much distance between us and our previous location as possible."

"But Galith…"

"Made it to the other side," he said gently, "And will without doubt be found by Elladan and…"

He hesitated, his jaw clenching against whatever he had been about to say. His eyes dropped and he turned to prod at something in the little fire close by.

"…and your husband."

Mel's brow furrowed. Elrohir had put a specific emphasis on the word 'husband', but Mel could not fathom why and before she could put much more thought to it, Elrohir had swept to his feet, pulling a few large leaves off the fire with a stick.

"In fact, they have probably already found each other and are even now making for our rendezvous to the south. Which means that we should hurry if we wish to meet them within the required two days."

He unwrapped one of the leaf packages and Mel took a deep breath of roasted fish. Her stomach grumbled hungrily. Elrohir handed her the steaming food with a smile.

"You will need your strength, vinimë."

Her hands were already on the leaf-wrapped fish, but she stared at him for a long moment. That was twice he had used that word, a word that he had not called her by since… But it was nothing. It didn't mean anything.

She unwrapped the fish and dug her fingers into the flesh as it steamed. Mel knew Elrohir was right. They should stick to the plan, not go careening off course. But there hadn't been time to even let Galith know there was a plan. What if she went off into the forest alone instead of waiting for Boromir and Elladan? What if the goblins found her? What if…?

She swallowed the bile that was rising up her throat and searched her pockets for the packet of mint Lord Elrond had given her. It was miraculously still there and intact. She shoved a small pinch of the leaves into her mouth, chewing slowly and letting the cool, tingle calm her stomach and throat. She needed to trust Elrohir. She needed to trust Boromir.

 _Boromir…_

And suddenly Mel thought she knew why Elrohir seemed so uncomfortable. In her panic, in her fear, she had shouted his name aloud. His _real_ name.

"Are you well, vinimë?"

Mel blinked and refocused on the elf, who was staring at her with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. She nodded and swallowed her mint leaves.

"Yes," she said, trying not to let her voice tremble, "Yes, I'm fine."

"Forgive me, you went very pale," Elrohir said, not looking convinced.

"I'm just worried," Mel said, dropping her eyes and forcing a few more bits of fish into her mouth.

"We will be on our way soon," Elrohir said, not unkindly, "I gave my word that I would see you safe, Lindel, and I will keep it."

Mel nodded and finished picking apart her fish.

* * *

Boromir was in his saddle and on the verge of kicking his horse into a mad gallop downriver, when Elladan wrapped his long, slender fingers in the bridle and pulled him up short.

"Esgalion, stop."

The calm, gentle voice was like a screeching grate on his ears. Boromir glared at the elf, who did nothing but stare back at him with large, impassive eyes.

"I know you are worried," Elladan said, still in that soothing tone, "But Elrohir made a vow to see your piniglîr to safety, and my brother keeps his word. Wherever they are, Elrohir will see that she is safe and whole, and will keep her so until you are reunited. You may depend on it."

Boromir did not want to be comforted by Elladan's words, but he felt his iron grip on the reins soften slightly despite himself. Melody was strong. Melody was stubborn. And he still felt that deep-seated conviction that if anything had happened to her, he would _know._ He managed to suck in a slow, shuddering breath and lowered his hands. Elladan searched his face and was apparently satisfied with whatever he found there, because he smiled slightly and released the horse's bridle.

"Now," he said, his voice less soothing and more familiarly cheerful, "We have a great deal of travel ahead of us, and not much daylight left in which to make the journey. It will take the rest of the day and part of the next to reach our meeting place if we are swift, and longer still for our companions to join us if, as I suspect, they have lost their horse to the Greyflood."

Boromir's hands clenched reflexively around the reins again and his horse fidgeted beneath him. Elladan's gaze flicked to him and Boromir forced his grip to relax. The elf continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

"The rock formation is both sheltering and easily defensible; we should have no trouble waiting a full day for our companions to join us. My lady Galith, do you require anything of us before we continue our journey? I know you have had quite a shock."

Boromir felt a sharp pang in his gut. Galith. He had completely forgotten the enting girl in his panic over Melody. He turned his guilt laden eyes to the girl and saw her crouching on the edge of the forest, her eyes flitting over them both and down the river, where he knew she had seen Melody swept away just hours before. He could see the same doubt and fear in her eyes that he felt in his own heart, and he chastised himself that he had even for one moment allowed his thoughts to stray from her, even for Melody's sake. It was not what Melody would have wanted. She would want him to look after the girl, not give in to his own selfish whims and fears, not even for her. And if he had left the girl behind, it was very likely that Melody would have never forgiven him.

The enting looked up at Boromir with those wide, dark eyes, only a shade darker than the face that held them, and he felt his fears and worries melt into the desire to soothe her, to comfort her.

"We can wait, Galith," he said gently, his posture softening, "There is time still. What do you need?"

But Galith was already shaking her head, though she seemed to crouch even closer to the ground as she did so.

"No," she said softly, "No, we must go. Calenhiril will be waiting."

Boromir exchanged a glance with Elladan and, though the elf looked slightly concerned, he did not contradict her.

"Very well," Elladan said, "We will go on. We can cover much ground while it is still light out."

The elf swung nimbly into his saddle and turned toward the forest, pausing at Galith's side and looking as if he might touch her shoulder, but at the last moment he refrained.

"Come, Lady Galith," he said in his gently pleasant tone, "We will walk under the trees together, you and I."

Galith glanced back at Boromir again, but at his nod, she turned and walked with Elladan into the forest. Boromir paused for a moment at the edge of the trees, scanning the river's edge one last time, and then followed.

* * *

 **Elvish Translations**

 _(all translations are Sindarin unless otherwise noted)_

bessig- dear wife/honey (an endearment)

vinimë(Q)- little one

herven- husband

tôr pe-channas- idiot brother

piniglîr- little song


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

It was well into the afternoon before Elrohir was satisfied that Mel was fit to travel. He fussed that she hadn't eaten enough, and fussed still more that her swim in the cold river had tired her. But Mel was anxious to be off and she would not sit still for anything, so eventually Elrohir conceded that they might as well start their journey.

"It would not be wise to camp in the open like this, at any rate," he muttered as he packed the few possessions they still had.

Mel glanced over the river at the thick trees on the far bank and shuddered. She didn't want to think about the orcs and wargs that might only be waiting for dark to pick up their trail. She pulled her cloak tightly around her to ward off the sudden chill and wished it were Boromir's arms instead.

Once they had set off, Mel sent out a call to the surrounding trees, searching for news of Galith and the others. But there was no immediate response, and the bitter trees seemed reluctant to carry her message very far. Still, Mel repeated the call every so often as they walked, listening for any indication, any sign. Elrohir seemed content to trek in silence, and this might not have bothered Mel (he always was the more introspective of the twins) if it weren't the memory of her terrible slip up in Tharbad. She kept circling back to it, wondering what he was thinking, if he was thinking anything at all, if he would even bring it up…

"Did you know Boromir?"

The question was so abrupt that Mel tripped over her own feet, barely managing to catch herself on a nearby tree before she fell on her face. Elrohir stopped and glanced back at her, his expression impressively unreadable.

"What?" Mel asked, stalling for time to get her thoughts back together.

"Lord Boromir of Gondor," Elrohir said, still in that conversational tone, as if he were asking about the weather, "The late Steward's son. Were you acquainted?"

Mel's mind was racing. What should she say? Should she lie?

 _Telling the truth is easier than remembering a lie,_ a little voice whispered in her head. The voice sounded suspiciously like her mother.

"Yes," she said finally, "Yes, I knew him."

Elrohir was staring at her intently, all pretense of continuing their walk abandoned. His expression was still frustratingly blank.

"Did your husband know him as well?"

Mel resisted the urge to bite her lip. The implications of that question would have been funny if her nerves weren't so keyed up.

"Yes," Mel said, "He knew him very well. He… served in the Citadel for many years."

"Esgalion favors him," Elrohir said and Mel had to fight not to wince, "In both look and bearing. It was much remarked upon in my father's house."

Mel didn't know what to say, so she chose not to say anything. Instead she waited and tried not to fidget as Elrohir's eyes drilled into her, as if he might dig down into her very soul and root out the truth. But she had not lied, not yet, and he must have sensed it, because he merely shook his head and turned, stepping lightly back onto the trail. Mel let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding and followed.

"It is difficult," he said, his voice soft and gentle now, "To be parted from one well-known and…" he hesitated, his eyes flicking back over his shoulder at her, "…well-loved."

Mel forced her face to remain impassive. It was easier if she kept her eyes on the path at her feet.

"Esgalion and I… we owe our lives to him," Mel said, choosing her words very carefully, "We feel his loss every day. He was very dear… to _both_ of us."

Elrohir did not respond for several long moments. In fact it was so long that Mel thought he might not respond at all. The path diverted sharply over a large, twisted tree root, which Elrohir leaped over with light, nimble feet. Mel started to scramble after him, and was surprised when he turned and held out his hand. She took it gratefully, but once she was safely on the other side, Elrohir did not release her. He actually gripped more tightly, drawing her eyes up to his face, which was no longer impassive.

"There is more to your story, Lindel," he said, and the breath caught in Mel's throat, "I have always known this. It is in the air around you, the way you hold yourself, the loss in your eyes when you thought the Woodland prince could not see you."

Mel jerked involuntarily, but Elrohir held her fast with his hand and his eyes.

"Your story is hidden," he said, "But your heart is not. I see the love that you hold for your husband, and I only wish you to know that… I sense we were meant to be friends, vinimë. I need only know that. Do you understand?"

Mel wasn't sure that she did. But his gaze was so sincere, so earnest that she felt like she could only nod. He wanted to be her friend. Maybe that was all she needed to understand. Everything else… Well, that was the past wasn't it?

Elrohir smiled and finally released her hand, cupping her face briefly before he turned and led her on into the woods. They walked in silence, but now it was a companionable silence, dampened only by the bitter forest, and the separation of friends and family.

* * *

Galith did not quite know what to make of the elfling, Elladan. Her mother had once told her that elves were one of the elder races, longer lived than the race of Men, but not eternal as Goldberry and Tom, falling somewhere in between. And having now dwelt for a time in the house of Rivendell she had thought she understood the difference. But Elladan was… perplexing. He flitted through the world on light feet, with breezy words and carefree actions, but sometimes when she looked in his eyes there was a depth there that belied his youthful antics. It was beyond comprehension to her. And somehow, despite all her efforts to keep him a length away, he had latched upon her like a climbing vine, twining himself about her thoughts without invitation. She watched him often, listened as he tried to whistle or trill a merry tune that more often than not fell flat without his brother's help. But even this did not seem to dampen his spirits, which Galith found most perplexing of all.

He had said they were friends. Galith had not forgotten. He had saved her and then said they were friends. Galith could not recall ever having had a friend before. The trees of the Old Forest had been her protectors, of course, and the animals her companions, but she would not have called them friends. And though she liked Tom and Goldberry well enough, they had been her guardians, not her friends. The idea that this elfling might have chosen to grow such a bond to her was both attractive and repelling. For soon they would be parted, she to her fate and he to his father, and what then would become of this thing he called friendship?

In contrast, the Son of Gondor was far less complex and Galith found that immensely comforting. He was solid to her, an anchor. She thought she could understand why Calenhiril cared for him so much, why she would choose to plant a seed with him. He was clearly as distraught by her absence as Galith, but he worked valiantly to conceal his distress from her. It showed only in his short temper with Elladan, his stiff posture in the saddle, in the way he glanced into the boughs of the trees under which they passed, as if he could perhaps glean some information of Calenhiril from their waving branches and whispering leaves. But this forest was stubbornly silent, or spoke only in hushed whispers that even Galith could not interpret. It was not hostile, but it was not hospitable. Galith wished to be rid of it.

They traveled until well past dusk, and might have continued on into the night if Galith had not stumbled. The two horses pulled up short as her foot caught on a hidden tree root and her gait stuttered.

"We should rest for a few hours," Elladan said, his voice floating up out of the darkness, "The horses will serve us better if they are rested."

Galith inwardly cursed her clumsy steps as the elf easily alighted from his horse and tethered it, not waiting for any argument.

"I will hold the watch," Elladan said, "Rest, my friends, even if you cannot sleep."

And then he was gone, slipping softly through the forest, his footfalls rustling the grass and leaves as he passed. Though the elf had used the horses as an excuse, Galith knew that her misstep was the true cause of their halt and she resented it. She could have continued; she did not need to rest. And she knew the Son of Gondor would resent the delay just as fervently.

"Galith?"

She tensed at the Man's voice at her side and crouched low defensively, despite herself.

"Do you require anything?" he asked, and his voice was gentle, with no hint of the anxiety she knew he must be feeling for his chosen One. It only made Galith feel more inadequate and sullen.

"No," she said and edged away into the dark, away from him. She could feel his hesitation, but he did not follow her.

After a few more steps into the trees, she folded herself into the foot of an old oak. He was not a comfort to her, but his sleepy rumbling was familiar. She sat very still and listened to the little sounds around her. There were creaks and rustles in the foliage, small animals making use of the cover the dark provided. She could hear the heavy footfalls of the Son of Gondor as he moved about the clearing restlessly, and then finally settled himself. There was a long pause in which there was nothing but the night to shelter her thoughts.

"He is trying his best, you know."

Galith nearly jerked to her feet in fright, but it was only Elladan, crouched beside her, his eyes still trained on the forest about them.

"He doesn't understand," Elladan continued, in a soft voice that was clearly meant only for her ears, "But he is trying his best in the absence of your…"

He hesitated, as if searching for a word.

"…your emig," he said finally, using a word that Galith was unfamiliar with, "Despite his own distress, he is trying to help you, Galith. Do you know why?"

Galith stared at the elf for a moment. He was looking at her now, his sharp elven eyes searching her face. She lowered her eyes to the ground, pressing her hands to the solid earth beneath her, hoping for strength, for stability.

"Because he must," she whispered, feeling the piercing shame of it.

There was a moment of silence.

"Oh mellon-nîn vell," he murmured and she felt him brush his long fingers through the gray wisps about her face, "Do you truly believe you mean so little to us?"

She shut her eyes tight against the anger building in her chest.

"I am nothing more than a pawn," she said, her words shot through with her angry despair, "I am a tool, a lost artifact to be returned to its rightful owner. What more could be felt for such a thing?"

"Lindel would never allow…"

"She isn't here!" Galith snapped before she could contain herself. She took a breath and relaxed her clenched fists from the earth, "She isn't here. I am alone."

There was another pause and Galith tucked herself more firmly into the base of the oak tree, making herself as small as possible.

"I am sorry, Galith."

She winced. That was the Son of Gondor's voice coming out of the darkness. He sighed and she heard him moving, coming closer.

"I fear I am not… as versed in comfort as… Lindel is," he said, tripping briefly over the false name, "I cannot give you the proper words to set your mind at ease, when my own mind is plagued by the same fears and doubts."

He settled gingerly beside her, just within arm's reach, but not touching.

"But I _can_ say with absolute surety, that I have never known Lindel to break her word. And she made a promise, Galith, to you and to your mother. So long as she draws breath, she will work to keep that promise."

A knot of emotion that had been buried in Galith's chest loosened and she let out a low sigh as the tension eased a bit from her shoulders. The Son of Gondor moved closer and tentatively placed his hand over her knotted fingers. Somehow, though her hand was larger, his felt far more substantial.

"And until she comes," he murmured, "I am here. I will not leave you, Galith. You are not alone."

She let her head droop in an acknowledgment. The words were far more comforting than she might have thought. Those moments in the unfamiliar woods, lost and directionless, had taught her what it was to be alone. It had not been a lesson learned pleasantly. She did not wish to repeat it.

"Thank you," she murmured.

The Son of Gondor said nothing. But he stayed with her, his hand on her hand, until the light of dawn came.

The next day, around midafternoon, they reached the cluster of rocks in the center of the forest, and they settled in to wait.

* * *

By midmorning of the second full day of their trek, Mel had lost all hope of catching up to the others. Elrohir had told her about the meeting place in the woods, but he had also said that if the others reached the spot before them, they were to wait only one day before pressing on without them. With Galith's long legs (and if Boromir and Elladan still had their horses), Mel knew they would never catch them once that happened. She only hoped Boromir wouldn't do something stupid, that he would get Galith to her father safely. If all else failed, they would meet in Isengard, she knew that. It might be a while, but she would see them again.

As long as nothing else had happened.

But she tried not to let her mind linger there. She just pressed on, two steps behind Elrohir, pushing farther and farther into a forest that had no interest in giving her any news of their companions whatsoever, if there was any. It was hard to tell if the trees were just being obstinate, or if they genuinely had nothing to tell her.

She could see in the set of Elrohir's shoulders that he did not expect anyone to be waiting for them either. His gait had taken on a trudging sort of quality, as if settling in for a long trail, rather than a quick catch-up.

"We are approaching the…"

He stopped. He stopped so suddenly that Mel nearly ran into the back of him before she pulled up short, her senses instantly alert. She scanned the chatter of the trees around her, but they seemed determined to be unhelpful. It was so frustrating!

"What is it?" she whispered.

Elrohir quirked his head to the side and Mel realized that he was listening. She waited, trying not to fidget beside him, looking for any sign of what had brought him to such a sudden halt… and then tension that Mel had not even realized he was holding seemed to bleed out of him. A smile spread across his face.

"What?" Mel asked.

"Come," he said, instead of an answer, "We are nearly there."

Then he plunged into the trees with a renewed vigor, leaving Mel to scramble along after him as best she could. They didn't seem to be in any danger (she was reasonably certain the trees would not go so far as to allow that), so she couldn't imagine what he could have…

And then she heard it too. Laughter. Low and musical and decidedly feminine laughter, just ahead, and as she was about to open her mouth to ask, the trees fell away and Mel saw what Elrohir had been so very pleased about.

Galith was laughing.

Elladan had an arrow balanced by the fletching on his brow, wobbling comically as he attempted to make a circuit of the boulders in the center of the small clearing, and Galith was laughing at him, folded gracefully against the rocks, Boromir at her side, smiling fondly at the enting as if his whole world had been lightened by the sound of her mirth. Mel couldn't move, her heart swelling until it felt like it might burst from her chest. Safe. They were all safe. And Galith was laughing.

Elrohir hadn't even broken stride, his path straight and clear, and Elladan turned toward his brother almost instinctively, crying out and leaping across the grass in strides that were almost flight-worthy to clasp his twin about the neck. Boromir was on his feet, his eyes wide, staring at Mel as if he had never seen anything like her in his entire life, and as much as she wanted to run to him, to embrace him, to whisper reassurances and be reassured in return, Mel's feet carried her instead to the enting, sitting with unnatural stillness in the shadow of the stones. Mel's hands found Galith's face and turned her eyes up, running her fingers through her mossy hair.

"Are you alright?" Mel asked, her voice betraying the desperate worry she had been keeping tamped down for the last three days, "You aren't hurt are you? You're alright?"

Galith's wide brown eyes began to shimmer and she blinked.

"I thought I was alone…" The girl's voice trembled with unspoken fears and Mel's heart broke.

"Oh, Galith," she whispered, smoothing the hair back from her young, green face, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Galith nodded and blinked away the shimmering start of tears once more, then dropped her head, allowing her hair to hide her face again. Mel let her go, dropping her hands and taking a step back, giving the girl a moment to collect herself.

Large familiar hands gripped her shoulders, turning her about, and she was looking up into Boromir's desperate face.

"Are you…?"

His voice broke and she saw him swallow. She gripped his arms tightly and smiled.

"It's alright," she said, "We're alright."

Some hidden tension in his shoulders left him in the rush of an exhaled breath and he wrapped himself around her, not just his arms but his whole body, holding her to him as if he could cover her completely, shielding her from the whole world. Mel closed her eyes and listened to his heart hammering in his chest.

"I should never have left you," he said, "I thought it would be safe…"

"I know you did," Mel said, "I know. It was the right call. Just bad luck, that's all."

"She is stronger than she appears, Esgalion," Elrohir said, appearing at Mel's side out of nowhere, "You should be proud of her tenacity, it kept her alive."

"As it always has," Boromir said, finally letting Mel go and tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, his eyes never once leaving her face, "Alive through pure stubbornness, as is her habit."

"A fine habit to have," Elladan said, "Perhaps it will be passed on to your child, if your luck holds!"

"I can only hope that our child is made entirely in her image," Boromir said, "The best parts of us reside in her."

"That's not true," Mel said, grinning and nudging him with her shoulder, "I'm keeping you around, aren't I? You must be doing something right."

Boromir grinned, soft and gentle.

"You have a generous heart, my love," he said, "It is the only explanation."

And before Mel could retort, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, cutting her off quite thoroughly.

* * *

 **Elvish Translations**

 _(all translations are Sindarin unless otherwise noted)_

Emig- little mother

mellon-nîn vell- my beloved friend


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N:** There is quite a bit of Elvish (both Quenya and Sindarin) in this chapter, just fair warning. Translations are in a note at the bottom :)

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Six**

They remained in the safety of the clearing the rest of that day and through the night, exchanging stories. Mel remained in the circle of Boromir's arms; he seemed unwilling to relinquish his hold on her and the twins seemed content to allow him to remain that way, taking care of the small chores and duties around the little camp without being asked. The only concession Boromir made was that they remained at Galith's side, and Mel would often reach out to touch the enting, brush her fingers on her knee, clasp her hand, little reminders that everything was alright and that they were together again. Galith's words haunted Mel in a terrible way- _I thought I was alone_ _…_ \- and she swore to herself that the girl would never be made to feel that way again, not if she could help it.

The next day dawned frosty and Mel suddenly realized how much time had passed, far more than she had realized. The group quickly packed up what remained of their belongings, and assessed the traveling situation. They were down to two horses now, and so were forced to double up, the twins sharing one, Boromir and Mel on the other. This was more uncomfortable than Mel had anticipated, but she bit her tongue against any complaints. There was nothing else they could do.

Their progress was slow and, once they left the perceived safety of the little clearing, Mel caught herself jumping at small noises in the underbrush, things she might never have even noticed before. As the Misty Mountains loomed larger, she worried about the goblins, both in the mountains before them, and possibly in the forest behind that might very well still be in pursuit. The twins appeared to be thinking the same thing and insisted on taking the watches. Their sharp elf eyes were better in the dark and, with no need for sleep, it made sense. But Mel still didn't sleep very well, starting awake at the smallest noises and constantly in search of Galith. Often she couldn't go back to sleep after.

It took a full week to reach the mouth of the Pass. They stopped for a quick lunch and then, once everything was put away, Elrohir removed both his and his brother's packs from the back of their horse and held out the reins to Mel. She stared at the reins in his hand and then up into his sadly smiling face.

"Where we are going, vinimë, is no place for such a noble steed as this."

"Going?" Mel repeated as she absently took the reins.

His smile widened in a more genuine expression of amusement.

"I seem to recall _someone_ being particularly insistent that we go no farther than the Gap of Rohan," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"I gave my word of honor!" Elladan piped up, adjusting a strap on his pack, "And I always keep my word."

He winked. Mel gaped at them. She remembered, of course she did. She just… She hadn't thought… hadn't realized…

"And besides, with the goblins at our backs and out for blood, it is best that we split up," Elladan continued, adjusting his sword belt and running his fingers through the arrows in his quiver, "We have the best chance of turning their own tracking against them this way, as well as leading them away from your own trail, since we would be considered the more vulnerable prey, alone and on foot."

He grinned wickedly at that, showing far more teeth than Mel thought was strictly necessary.

"You're going to hunt them?"

Galith's quavering voice cut through Elladan's predatory grin, wiping it completely off his face. The enting girl's face had gone a pale shade of gray-green, her eyes wide.

"By yourselves? Alone? Against an entire party of goblins?"

Elladan very slowly set aside his quiver and bow and approached Galith with a careful, deliberate step, as one might approach a deer in a glen.

"We have faced much worse, mellon-nîn," he said gently, "Our concern for you is far greater at this juncture. You must escape this place. Once on the other side of the pass and on the main road once more, you will be well out of danger."

"While you run headlong to meet it," Galith snapped, her face still frighteningly pale, "With whooping delight and open arms, is that it? If you have no desire to see me again, all you need do is avoid crossing the mountains, there is no need to chase death to be rid of me."

The smile that had been twitching at the corners of Elladan's lips quavered away and his glinting eyes dulled. He had finally come within arm's reach of her, and he reached out his hand, but made no move to touch the enting.

"Is that what you fear, gwennig?" he said, "Do you truly think so little of me, that you would say such a thing?"

Galith looked away, crouching slightly away from him. Elladan stood for several seconds in complete stillness. Then in a ringing voice that felt both old and strong, he spoke a phrase that stung Mel's heart.

"Tenn'oio nál orenyanil, melda heri."

Mel understood only one, painfully familiar word, but it was enough to make her flinch, her breath catching in her throat. She could feel Elrohir stiffen at her elbow, but she did not dare turn to see his reaction. Had he known? Surely he must have had some inkling of what was in his brother's heart, but had he really _known_? Or was this beyond even a twin's intuition?

Galith looked up at Elladan, her eyes narrowed in puzzled suspicion.

"What does it mean?" she asked.

Elladan dropped his eyes and Mel saw his throat work as he swallowed, his raised hand clenching into a fist before him.

"It is a promise," he said, his voice rough as if from unshed tears, "A declaration of the soul, of a bond that neither time nor distance may ever tear asunder."

Galith was very still. No part of her even trembled and her eyes remained fixed on the elf.

"Why?" Her voice was nearly harsh, except that the word broke in the last second.

"Why does the sun rise each day?" Elladan replied, opening his hand again to her, "Why do the stars burn at night? Why do we not question these things?"

He took a single step. Galith remained still.

"Some things simply are, Galith," he said, his smile slowly returning to his face, "And I have known my heart since I set my eyes upon you in the forest of Imladris. It spoke to me loudly and with an insistence that I might have found astounding did I not know myself so very well. If you will not return my friendship, that is as you will. But you have my soul, Galith, and that you cannot turn away for I have given it freely."

He reached out and this time he did take her hand, her long slender fingers wrapping about his, enveloping his hand in her leafy grip.

"And if you _would_ return my friendship," he said, almost breathlessly, "I would leave you with such joy in my heart that no goblin would dare take my life, for fear the light inside me might escape and burn him to ash."

Galith stared down at his hand wrapped in hers for a long silent moment. When she spoke again, it was in a whisper.

"We will never see each other again."

Elladan gripped her hand with both of his, his face alight with youthful earnestness.

"If you would have it, Galith, no force in this world would keep me from seeing your face again," he said, "There are things that I must see to, but I swear on the stars this will not be the last time our eyes meet. Do you accept my word on this? Do you accept my word as your soul's true friend, as orenyanil?"

Galith's eyes lifted to his and she searched his face intently, as if searching for any sign of insincerity, of deceit. But there was nothing on Elladan's face but naked hope and desperation. Mel felt her heart straining in her chest, desperate on his behalf, and without meaning to her thoughts strayed to her own orenyanil, her soul's true friend, separated forever.

Galith nodded and covered Elladan's hands with her own.

"Yes," she said, "I would see you again, Elladan of the West, and call you my friend."

Elladan's face broke into the sunniest of smiles and he lifted Galith's hands to his lips, pressing a fervent kiss to her leafy fingers.

"So shall it be, mellon-nîn vell," he declared, "On the stars and my own life, so shall it be."

Galith smiled as well, though her eyes were sad and shimmering. A tension that Mel had been all too aware of broke and they all shifted restlessly. Elrohir shouldered his pack and adjusted a strap.

"Come, Elladan," he said, "To lose the daylight might be to our advantage, but I would see our friends well beyond the mountains before night falls."

Elladan agreed and turned to clasp hands in farewell with Boromir. Elrohir turned to Mel and smiled, gripping both her hands in his.

"Alámene, vinimë," he said, "May your paths be green and the breeze behind you."

He raised her hands and planted a kiss to the knuckles of each. Mel grinned and thought back to her own lessons so long ago, pulling up a single phrase of Quenya, a phrase she had heard them utter more times than she could count.

"Mára farie, Elrohir."

His eyebrows shot up and he grinned brightly.

"As the stars will," he said.

Elladan suddenly appeared out of nowhere and swept Mel completely off her feet in a spinning embrace, laughing with delight.

"Galu, maethorig-nîn!" he said, setting her lightly on her feet and holding her by the shoulders, grinning widely, "Until we meet again!"

"Sooner rather than later, I hope," Mel said, smiling despite herself.

Elladan's grin turned mischievous.

"You may depend on it," he said, with a wink.

Then he turned and collected his quiver and bow in a single smooth motion, waving at his brother who was still clasping Boromir's hand.

"Tolo, hanar!" he cried, "Togathon!"

Elrohir rolled his eyes and slung his own quiver over his shoulder.

"Only if we never wish to emerge from the woods again," he said, smirking, "Menif, and _I_ will lead."

Before Elladan could respond, Elrohir had shot off into the underbrush, moving so smoothly that the growth barely shivered in his wake. Elladan turned back to them and rolled his own eyes.

"Always, he feels he must best me," he said, "Goodbye, friends!"

He raised his hand and then turned his eyes to Galith intensely.

"Until our next meeting."

And then he was gone as well, slipping just as expertly into the trees, with no sign of his passage. The three that remained stared after them for several seconds, in a moment of final silent farewell.

Boromir was the first to rouse himself and he reached out to touch Mel's shoulder.

"Come, my love," he murmured gently, "We are losing the light."

Mel nodded and turned to the horse that stood quietly at her side, looking at her with brown bottomless eyes, one delicate ear flicking interestedly, tail swishing. She rubbed the velvet nose and moved to check her tack, though everything was of course snug and secure. She would expect no less of Elrohir. She paused before she mounted, looking back into the brush. Though Elladan had pledged to come over the mountains, Elrohir had made no such promise. And Mel had a sudden stab of certainty that she had seen at least one of Elrond's sons for the very last time. She swallowed back tears and mounted her horse, turning the mare's head in the opposite direction of the twins' departure, toward the Gap of Rohan.

Galith still stood staring back in the direction of the elves. Mel sidled her horse up to Galith's side and reached out to grip the enting's shoulder.

"They'll be alright, Galith," she reassured her, "They've been hunting goblins for more years than I can count. They'll be alright."

"Why?" Galith said, turning her wide eyes up to Mel, still shining with tears, "Why must he go? Why must they face this danger?"

Mel gave her a sad smile and squeezed her slender shoulder.

"To keep a promise," she said, "When Elladan comes over the mountains, you can ask him about it. I'm sure he'll tell you."

"Do you really think he will come?" Galith asked, turning her eyes back to the forest, "Will he keep his word, Calenhiril?"

"If there is one thing you can rely on, Galith, it is that an orenyanil will always keep his word," Boromir said, pulling up on Galith's other side and giving her a friendly, confident smile, but his eyes touched Mel with the barest flicker of sadness, "No matter the cost."

Mel felt the pain of her loss like a pin prick, but she brushed it off as one might a bug bite. Boromir turned and urged his horse toward the Gap.

"Come, or we'll be caught in the pass."

Mel gave Galith's shoulder one last squeeze then followed after Boromir. She didn't turn back when she reached the undergrowth on the other side, but after a silent moment, she heard Galith's footsteps following in their wake.

* * *

Once they were beyond the Gap, the journey felt… easier. They were less rushed, and Mel felt a sense of something drawing to a close. Galith was silent for much of the time and Mel knew that she was thinking ahead to the imminent encounter with the father she had never met. Mel thought she could understand a little bit. She had known her father, but once he had moved into the city she had seen him much less and that gap had never truly been bridged again. She tried to imagine how she might have felt if, as a teenager, she'd been ripped from her mother and the only home and friends she'd ever known, and forced to live with a man that was little more than a stranger to her, expected to show him respect and love that he had not really earned. She knew it wasn't exactly the same, but still it gave her a sense of what might be going through Galith's mind behind her silence.

"It's going to be okay, you know," Mel said impulsively, sitting around their small campfire burning down to embers. They were one day's easy ride from Isengard and Orthanc, and Galith had not spoken once all day.

The enting looked up at her through her mossy hair, her eyes wide, but somehow still skeptical.

"Do you think so?" She looked back into the burning sparks, "I am not so certain."

Mel didn't know what else to say so she said nothing, huddling into her cloak and wishing she had something more to give the girl.

They entered the valley of Isengard in the early morning and as it opened up, Galith paused at the vale's lip, staring down, letting the chill breeze brush her hair against her face and rustle the leaves around her.

"It's so…" She paused, "Sparse."

Mel nodded.

"Saruman," she said, resisting the urge to shudder at the name and pointing down into the valley, toward the dark tower and the courtyard planted with small copses of young trees at seemingly random intervals, "But that's your father's doing. He's rebuilding, albeit slowly. It's good work."

She looked up into Galith's impassive face.

"I'm sure he could use all the help he can get."

Galith nodded, but the gesture seemed absent, with no real understanding behind it.

They descended into the valley, but the closer they drew to the black tower, the more Galith seemed to lag behind. Finally, just before the walls of Orthanc, Mel reined up and motioned Boromir to do the same. The enting had stopped several feet behind them and was now crouched low to the road, her body trembling so that her leaves rattled.

"I can't…" she rasped, her wide, frightened eyes fixed desperately on Mel, "Calenhiril, I… I can't! I have failed my mother, I dishonor her memory, but I… please, I… I ca…"

She sank down further and brought her long sinewy arms up to cover her head. Mel heard a harsh, rattling sob and she jumped from her horse and ran back to the girl, the poor lost girl, the one she had been sent to protect above all else. She put her arms around her as best she could and held her close, stroking her tangled mossy hair and whispering softly, soothingly.

"Shhh, Galith, shhh, you haven't failed, you haven't, she would be so proud of you, so very proud of you, shhhh, shhhh…"

The enting gasped out another sob and rocked for a while, shivering in Mel's arms. When the sobs and shakes had subsided, Mel smoothed back the enting girl's hair, but did not let go, murmuring in her ear.

"I'm right here, Galith. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere, not until you're ready. You don't have to say anything, or do anything. I'll do all the talking. I'm here, Galith. Do you trust me?"

There was a long pause, but finally Galith nodded. Mel let out a long, slow breath and pulled back, holding the girl at arm's length. She stared up at her with her wide, brown eyes and Mel smiled, squeezing her arms reassuringly.

"Stay close to us," she said, "We won't let anything happen to you."

Galith nodded and slowly rose to her feet. She towered over Mel, but Mel still thought she looked small and frightened. She mounted her horse, then reached out a hand to the girl. Galith took it and Mel squeezed her fingers.

"Don't let go," Mel whispered and softly nudged her horse into a walk, "Don't let go."

With careful, deliberate steps Galith followed and they approached the walls of Orthanc. Boromir said nothing, but rode a little bit ahead, an extra line of defense between the tower and those that followed him. And it was a good thing, because before they could even see who it was that stood watch at the wall, they were greeted with a shout.

"Hail merry travelers, and well met!"

Mel grinned at the familiar voice, but she felt Galith's grip stiffen and tug at her hand, drawing her to a halt as a large form peeled away from the shadows thrown by the late afternoon sun against the walls and approach with long, purposeful strides. She could feel Galith begin to shake again and Mel squeezed her hand, partly to comfort and reassure, partly to keep her from bolting before they'd even truly begun.

Boromir raised his hand and continued his approach on his own horse, slow and easy.

"Hail and well met, keeper of the gates of Orthanc! Bregalad, is that not your voice I hear?"

There was a merry laugh and a skipping step that brought Quickbeam to a sliding stop before Boromir's horse, causing the beast to rear up a bit and Galith to jerk in Mel's grip. Mel held her fast.

"Esgalion of Ithilien! You are indeed well met, friend of the forest!" Quickbeam exclaimed, delight glowing in his face, set off by clusters of red berries, "But if you are approaching my post, then you must bring…"

He trailed off, his eyes having slid off Boromir to rest on Mel. And on the one she held, trembling, at her side. The glowing delight was replaced with wide-eyed, gaping awe that stole his words from him for a full ten seconds at least.

"Most cherished lady…" he whispered at last, only it wasn't a whisper, it was Old Entish, spoken halting and translated by Mel's brain as fast as it was uttered, which wasn't really all that fast. It took a good five minutes for the words to finish reverberating through the air. Mel could still feel Galith trembling beside her and she remembered what the girl had said about knowing very little of her own tongue. Mel wondered if she even knew what he'd just said. She squeezed her hand and worked hard to translate her words to Common when she spoke.

"Hail and well met, Quickbeam of the Rowans. This is Galith of the Old Forest. We have come a very long way, and we wondered if we might impose on your lord to shelter us for a time here in Isengard."

Her words seem to shake Quickbeam out of his staring daze. He shook his head once, drowsily, then again more vigorously.

"Yes… Yes of course, of _course!_ " he said, in Common once again, his face lighting up again with that inner glow that made him look so young and reckless and made Mel like him so very much, "Yes, little sister, oh yes, this way, this way!"

He turned and began to stride back toward the wall, murmuring to himself in harooms and hums and glancing back every other stride or so to see if they were following. Boromir glanced back once at them, but Mel nodded and he rode on after the ent. Mel turned to Galith. Her eyes were wide and she was trembling, but it did not seem to be with fear. She was staring after Quickbeam as if he were a light in a tunnel of endless dark.

"That is…" Her voice cracked and she looked up at Mel, "That is Bregalad? The one you spoke of?"

Mel smiled.

"Yes," she said, tugging at the girl's arm, "And if we don't hurry, he's going to leave us behind and be forced to come back for us. Not that I think he'd mind, but…"

Galith laughed and then looked startled that the noise had come from her mouth. She pressed her lips together tightly and seemed to consider. Then, she took a tentative step forward.

"Well," she said, "It would be very rude, at any rate."

Far ahead, waiting at the gate, Bregalad turned and waved at them. Mel felt Galith's hand tighten in hers again, but she was no longer shaking. Mel grinned and nudged her horse into motion.

By the time they had entered the courtyard, Quickbeam was already off, sprinting across the grass with a loping gait that set his branches bouncing crazily, his shouts echoing against the stones.

"Fangorn! Fangorn, she's here! She found them, she's _here!_ "

The long-limbed ent slid around the tower and out of sight, still shouting. Mel exchanged a nervous glance with Boromir, but he only twitched his lips up in a sympathetic smile. They waited, Galith's hand still clutched in Mel's.

Then a new voice echoed against the stones, gruff and getting closer.

"Harum hoom, what's all this, Bregalad, so hasty, no need to rush, no need at all, hasty to a fault the younger of us, roomharoom…"

And before Mel could warn her, before she could do anything but tense her grip on Galith's hand, Fangorn, Treebeard, the new lord of Isengard, came around the tower's corner and Galith met her father's eyes for the very first time.

* * *

 **Elvish Translations**

 _(all translations are Sindarin unless otherwise noted)_

Vinimë (Q)- little one

mellon-nîn- my friend

gwennig- little maid

Tenn'oio nál orenyanil (Q)- Forever you are my heart (inner mind) friend

melda heri (Q)- beloved lady

mellon-nîn vell- my beloved friend

Alámene (Q)- Go with our blessings

Mára farie (Q)- Good hunting

Galu, maethorig-nîn!- Farewell, my little warrior! (Fun Fact: 'Galu' can be used as both a greeting and a farewell, like an Elvish 'Aloha')

Tolo, hanar!- Come, brother!

Togathon- I will go first

Menif- Let's go

 **A/N:** The promise Mel refers to (the reason Elladan and Elrohir must fight the goblins) is because of their mother, Celebrian, who was attacked and tortured by goblins about five hundred years ago. Even though the twins rescued her, Celebrian was never the same and she went West afterward. Elladan and Elrohir are well-known to have never really gotten over that and they hunt the goblins viciously because of her.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Galith's didn't move. Mel didn't know whether to consider that a good sign or a bad one. She didn't dare turn to look at the enting, afraid of what she would see. Treebeard had frozen where he stood, his large eyes fixed unwaveringly on the girl whose hand Mel still held. He seemed not to have noticed that there was anyone else in the courtyard, Mel and Boromir waiting to be acknowledged, Bregalad at his elbow, practically bouncing with excitement. He simply stood and observed the girl, not in a daze as Quickbeam had been, but deeply, purposefully. After what felt like it might have been a lifetime, the older ent finally spoke, his tongue slipping into the Old Entish, which Mel's brain translated.

"You have your mother's eyes."

It took over five minutes for the phrase to be finished. Galith's hand tightened on Mel's and she wondered once again if the girl even understood what was being said. How much Old Entish did she actually know? She had said she didn't feel comfortable using it in conversation, but did she at least understand enough to get the sentiment? Mel didn't know whether her grip had tightened in fear or… in anger. God, Mel hoped it wasn't anger. She didn't think she was prepared to mediate an ent fight.

Treebeard blinked and finally seemed to remember that they were not alone. His large eyes turned to Mel and crinkled in recognition.

"Ah, little sister!" he said, switching to Common in deference to Boromir, whom he nodded to, "Honored we are to see you returned to us so soon. I take it to mean your journey to foreign parts was unhindered."

Mel squeezed Galith's hand and smiled at Treebeard.

"I wouldn't say unhindered, Fangorn," she said, "We were delayed more than I would like, by those with evil intent. But here we are at last."

"Indeed," he rumbled, nodding and flicking his eyes briefly to Galith, but not allowing his gaze to linger, "So you are. Will you take your rest with us, Calenhiril? I would hear your tale, even in the hasty manner to which you are accustomed to speak."

Mel nodded.

"We will. And I will tell you all."

The ent led them to a corner of the courtyard and they sat together, Galith folding herself close to Mel's side and as far from Treebeard as possible. She was staring at the larger ent, not with hostility, but with caution all the same. He did not seem to take any notice of it. Mel kept a hand on the girl's knee, but her eyes fixed on Treebeard, who nodded and hummed through her story, swaying gently as if in a breeze as she told him about the journey to Rivendell, of Old Father Oak and the remnants of the entwives they'd found in the valley that had sent them on into the Old Forest. She told him of Tom Bombadil and Goldberry, and finally she told him of the hidden place beside the slow, trickling water, and of the one who now slept there forever.

Only then did Treebeard react in any noticeable way. He was already seated, but now he gathered himself up and hid his face, surprisingly similar to what Galith did when she was afraid or wished to be hidden for whatever reason. He rocked to and fro for a long time and Mel waited. She could hear humming under the creaks of his movements and she was surprised that she recognized it. It was the same tune that Galith had sung in the clearing after, the song of mourning.

"We have already sung her to the earth."

Galith's voice cracked through the still air like a whip and Treebeard stopped rocking as if she had pulled him taut. Mel risked a glance at the girl. She was straight as a rod, her eyes glaring with the first open hostility she had shown yet.

"What right have you to her songs?" she snapped, "You who left her to whatever fate would give her, who could not be bothered to leave your forested comfort to look for her, for any of them? You, who she did not even trust enough to come to when she was in need? You, who could not protect us?!"

The enting swept to her feet with such sudden ferocity that Mel had only a fraction of a second to consider the possibility of violence before the girl turned and stormed away, around the corner of the tower and out of sight. Mel started to rise, to follow her.

"No."

She stopped. Treebeard had finally removed his hands from his face and was looking in the direction his daughter had gone, his eyes wide and brimming with sadness.

"She is right, Calenhiril," he rumbled, "And I would leave her in her righteous anger. We who remain from the time of the entwives are not worthy even of her contempt. We, who abandoned her to the wide world, who hold no claim on her."

Mel paused, but then slowly lowered herself back to the ground.

"I worry about her," she said, "She is… I feel her bitterness. She has lost much, Treebeard, more than even you know. She has lost her whole world."

She exchanged a look with Boromir and he smiled at her, a sad little half smile.

"We know a little of what that's like," she said, turning back to Treebeard, "It's a hard transition to make."

Treebeard rumbled and rocked once more, his eyes still fixed on the spot where Galith had disappeared.

"Harum hom, tell me, little sister. I would know all that I can."

So Mel told him the rest, of taking Galith from the Old Forest, the unexpected addition of the sons of Elrond to their party in Rivendell, the flight from the goblins across the river, their brief separation and reunion, followed so closely by the parting from Elladan and his promise to her. Treebeard sat straight up.

"He called her orenyanil?"

Mel nodded, "And I believe he meant it. Elladan is often prone to silliness, but… I've never seen him like this."

"That word is not spoken lightly among the Eldar," Treebeard rumbled, "I have only heard it spoken once in my lifetime, and not to myself. I see now what you meant when you said that she has lost much, Calenhiril."

Mel glanced over her shoulder, back toward the tower. Galith had not come back and the sun was touching the rim of the valley. Had she gone farther than the courtyard? Was she gone forever? Mel felt a knot form in her stomach at the thought that her last encounter with the enting might have been one of anger, even if it wasn't directed particularly at her. She stood up and brushed at her pants.

"I'm going to look for her," she said and held up a hand when she sensed that Treebeard might protest, "No, I think I should. I won't bother her, I just want to make sure she's alright."

The ent regarded her gravely for a moment, then nodded and creaked to his feet.

"As you will, little sister," he said, "I think… I think I will walk for a while. Not far, though I long to feel the branches of my forest again, now especially when it seems that I have found grief and hope in equal measure. But no, perhaps just to the edge of the valley for now. I will return by morning."

He turned to nod acknowledgment to Boromir, who returned the gesture, still as silent as he had been all day.

"Make what preparations you must and stay as long as you like. We welcome you into our home as family."

"Thank you," Mel answer, allowing her words to slip into Old Entish.

Treebeard smiled, though the expression still held the shadow of sadness in it. Then he turned away, striding toward the outer wall and the rim of the valley beyond. Mel watched him go, feeling that there should have been something more she could do for him, something to ease his pain.

Boromir got to his feet and stretched.

"Would you like me to accompany you?" he asked.

Mel shook her head and put a hand on his arm, squeezing gently.

"If I need you, I'll find you," she said, "But I don't want to disturb her unless I have to."

Boromir nodded, and bent to press a kiss to her temple.

"You have done what you can for them," he murmured, "The rest is her choice."

Mel nodded and squeezed his arm one more time in acknowledgment before she moved away, heading toward the tower where Galith had disappeared. Not surprisingly, the girl was not hiding just around the corner. Mel thought about taking to the dark stairs to get a better view of the surrounding area, but in the end decided against it. Orthanc still gave her the shivers and to mount those steps felt too much like tempting fate, even knowing that nothing remained within the black walls. She walked around instead and stood on the other side of the stairway, hands on hips, squinting into the gathering dusk.

There were several clumps of trees spread out at odd intervals within the courtyard, all seemingly growing at unusually fast rates. Mel could see the group of saplings she and her companions had spent the night under last time she was here (she tried so hard not to think of Legolas and failed) and they all seemed to have grown at least a foot in the few months she had been away. Had it really only been a few months? It felt like a lifetime, another one, she felt as if she had lived so many lifetimes now. Her first, in her first world, her second in Rivendell, her third with the Fellowship, her fourth when she had believed Boromir dead, her fifth when she had realized he was alive, her sixth when the consequences of her actions had been revealed in the form of that terrible, heartrending choice, her seventh when that choice had resulted in her new life in the orchard, her eighth with this seemingly impossible quest from Yavanna, and now her ninth with the entwives discovered. If she were a cat, she thought, she would be very worried. She caught herself absently touching her abdomen. A new life, there was a new life waiting for her in the forests of Ithilien, one that she could live as her own, hers and no one else's. No more quests, no more Valar, no more heart-breaking choices. Hers, and hers alone, to be spent as she saw fit, with whoever she wanted.

Her feet had wandered as she thought, her eyes scanning absently. She was at the edge of the courtyard now and she reached out a hand to brush the newly cobbled together stone, feeling the difference between a section that had stood during the wizard's reign and what had been erected to repair a hole from the ents assault. A thick section of trees appeared to be climbing the walls close by, and Mel was nearly within their branches when she heard the soft sighs of singing, an echoing refrain of the song that had sent Fimbrethil to the earth. She hesitated. The clump of growth was thick and she couldn't see very far inside, but she knew Galith was in there. And she really didn't want to bother her. Boromir was right. What happened now must be the enting's choice, no one else's, or she would resent and regret it for the rest of her very long life.

Finally, Mel decided to make her way around the group of trees, staying well out of the branches' reach. The humming notes of the sad song tickled her ears as she came around the bend… and saw Quickbeam huddled next to the wall, just where the outermost trees met the stones, so still that if it hadn't been for the bright red berries in his leaves Mel might have missed him. He didn't appear to have noticed her. His eyes were fixed on the thick foliage, not searching really, just staring with an open expression, as if his thoughts were far away. Mel paused indecisively, not sure if she should approach him or if she should just pretend not to have seen him. In that moment of hesitation, he became aware of her presence. He stood abruptly, as if she had caught him at something untoward or unseemly. His eyes darted between her and the trees, in the direction of the soft song still lilting on the air. Mel smiled, trying to put him at ease, and waved him away, further along the wall, where there was less chance they would be overheard. He hung his head and trudged in the direction she indicated, like a child that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and was now awaiting his punishment. Mel caught up to him and smiled again.

"Walk with me a minute, Quickbeam?" she asked, once they were out of earshot. She tried to keep her voice light and friendly, but he only hung his head further.

"Of course, Calenhiril," he rumbled.

They walked for a while along the perimeter of the wall, the notes of Galith's song now only a sad memory, Mel trying to put together what she wanted to ask without spooking the ent at her side. But in the end it was Quickbeam who broke the stillness, hasty, just as Treebeard had said.

"I did not mean any disrespect, Calenhiril," he said, words tumbling from his mouth as if a dam had broken within him, "I meant nothing, I only, I thought, I saw her flight and I wished to be sure that she was in no danger, this can be a dangerous place still, many pitfalls have yet to be repaired and she looked very upset, I was only concerned for her safety, you see, but then…"

He trailed off and hung his head even lower, the bottom most branches brushing Mel's shoulder.

"It's okay, Quickbeam," Mel said, stopping and brushing the branches aside to look into his downcast face, "You didn't do anything wrong."

He looked up, doubt and hope warring on his features.

"I'm glad you were there," she said, "I was worried too."

His head lifted a little farther, hope winning the battle for his expression.

"She's… going through a lot," Mel said, returning to their walk, "She feels alone. Like she's lost everything, her home, her family, her friends. And now she's here, among strangers, and she's expected to just…"

Mel paused, and then shrugged.

"I understand."

Mel looked up at the ent, but his eyes were very far away now, haunted. And Mel remembered the story of Bregalad and his rowan trees, how he had lost everything too, his home and his friends, and been forced to live among strangers.

"Yes," Mel said, "I think you do."

She stopped and put a hand on Quickbeam's arm.

"I don't know what she's going to do," Mel said, "I've made it entirely her choice. But if she does decide to stay here, I'll feel much better if I know she has you looking after her, Bregalad."

The ent's eyes widened and, after a moment, he bowed low, murmuring in Old Entish.

"My honor and privilege, little sister."

Mel grinned once the words were spoken and she bent beneath his branches to press a kiss to his brow.

"My thanks and love, dear brother," she returned, also in Old Entish.

Bregalad looked genuinely touched by the gesture and Mel was humbled by the expression. She didn't feel like she had done very much, really. She was only a… a shepherdess. She wasn't worthy of such love and devotion. But she returned the sentiment, just the same, and she very much hoped that she had done _something_ , at least, to help them.

"Now, it's late," Mel said in Common, pushing away the tears that were threatening to block her throat, "Return to your post and I will rest easier knowing that my charge is safe in your care."

Bregalad bowed again and loped off back the way they had come. Mel watched him go, his tall form drifting away into the dark, the bright red of his berries swinging long after the rest of his form might have been lost to shadow.

She returned to the tower, where Boromir had set up a comfortable enough nook in one of the corners. She flopped onto her bedroll, wrapped up in her cloak against the chill, feeling exhausted.

"Did you find her?" Boromir asked, putting together a small pile of kindling for a fire.

"Mmhmm," Mel murmured, snuggling further into her cloak, "She's holed up in some trees at the wall. Quickbeam's keeping an eye on her."

Boromir paused and glanced up, lifting an eyebrow.

"Bregalad?" he asked, a touch of mirth coloring his tone, "Is that so?"

Mel frowned and sat up, trying to pull herself back from the brink of sleep.

"What?" she asked, "What'd I miss?"

Boromir's lips quirked up a bit, but he shrugged and turned back to the woodpile, striking a spark into the kindling.

"Perhaps nothing," he said, "It has been over an age since an entwife was seen in these parts after all, curiosity and intrigue are bound to follow…"

"She's not an entwife yet," Mel said, but then shook her head as she realized she was still missing whatever it was Boromir was trying to hint at, "Curiosity and intrigue?"

Boromir shrugged again, finally striking a spark that caught and spending the next few minutes tending to the tiny flame, blowing it gently into flickering life and adding more dry sticks to the crackling party before he spoke again.

"I've only noticed that young Bregalad has not been able to take his eyes from Galith's face for more than five seconds at a stretch since we arrived," He looked up and grinned at Mel, "Much as I could not seem to take my eyes from you when first we met."

It clicked then and Mel couldn't believe she hadn't seen it from the very beginning. It was so blatantly obvious, but still… Was it…?

"We just got here," Mel said, fumbling over her words, "I mean, are you sure…?"

Boromir turned his eyes back to the fire and poked absently at the crackling flame.

"I know nothing for a certainty," he said, "And I have never claimed to be any kind of expert in such matters, as you well know," He smirked slightly at her before looking down again, "I only know that whatever it was, it warmed my heart and, for the first time, I hoped that Galith might choose to remain here for a little while, if only so she might see that look in his eyes in her own time."

Mel sat up again, something in what he'd said bringing her out of her musings.

"The first time?"

Boromir prodded the fire again, not looking at her.

"I confess," he said finally, "Only now that my heart has been altered, I had thought before that she might choose to journey to Ithilien… with us."

Mel stared at him. This was… unexpected. It wasn't that she hadn't considered the possibility, she just hadn't expected Boromir to have a preference one way or the other.

"The possibility has appealed to me ever since your mention of it on the Barrow Downs," Boromir went on, "Ithilien has endured much, suffered much. It will take a greater power than even the Yavannacor to bring it back to its former glory, to restore it to its proper beauty once more. An entwife, even an enting as Galith is now…"

He shrugged again.

"It could be the beginning," he said, "A start. As I said, a possibility."

Mel was still staring at him. And she realized with sudden clarity why this made so much sense. He was still Boromir. He was still thinking like the son of a Steward, his mind always on the restoration of his land, on the prosperity of his country. It was… strangely comforting, that this was something that wouldn't ever go away, only change, his people and his land now the forest that he considered his home. His heart still remained intact.

"I love you," Mel said suddenly, the words coming out of her mouth unbidden.

He looked up, startled, and smiled.

"And I love you," he said, "And no matter what happens, whatever Galith decides, I will support it, you may be assured."

"I never doubted it," Mel said, returning his smile.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Treebeard was back well before sunrise. Mel woke to the sound of his gentle humming, and though it was not a happy song, it was filled with contentment. It nearly made the uncomfortable turning of her stomach bearable. She sat up, wrapping her cloak tightly about her to ward off the early morning chill, and realized Boromir was gone. But for the first time in a long while, Mel wasn't worried. She knew he wouldn't go far, and besides they were safe here.

So instead, Mel got up and followed the sound of the humming, turning the corner to find Treebeard swaying easily on the black steps of Orthanc, facing east as if waiting for sunrise. Mel hesitated, then settled gingerly at his feet, still wary of being this close to the tower. She leaned against his leg and let his humming vibrate through her, pressing a hand to her stomach and waiting for her nausea to subside. She tried not to think about what might lie ahead, to exist only in this moment. For the most part she succeeded, and the last notes of Treebeard's song faded into the dim light.

"What does it mean?"

Mel tried not to jump at the unexpected voice, tried not to make _any_ sudden moves, actually. Slowly, carefully, she craned her neck and saw Galith peering, narrow-eyed, around the opposite corner of the tower. For a long moment, Treebeard did not speak, only hrmmed and hummed for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts.

"Humhoomhrum, it is a song of beginnings," he said finally, "Of acknowledging old ways, and accepting new ways to come. It is many things, just as, haromhum, beginnings are often many things."

There was only silence for a long time. Mel tried not to fidget, tried to remember that what might seem like a long pause to her was only the briefest of moments to an ent. She waited, watching Galith's face. It didn't change. It remained narrow-eyed, suspicious.

"Did you send that rowan to spy on me?"

Mel stiffened. She hadn't known Galith was aware of Quickbeam. But Treebeard did not seem fazed by the accusation. He swayed and hummed for another moment.

"You are the last," Treebeard said finally, "He is also the last, in his own way. Such things are as the blowing of fallen leaves or the way of the brook. They are drawn, together and onward, we know not where. We can only let them go as they will."

"You sound like-"

Galith bit off whatever she'd been about to say, her expression deepening into a scowl.

"You don't make any sense," she spit finally.

Treebeard rumbled, and Mel recognized it as a chuckle.

"No, haroomhumrum, I suppose not. I am an old ent, mairaldanettëvinimë, and not so hasty as I used to be. Not so hasty as you to understand. But there are some things, humharumhum, that are not meant to be understood. They are meant to be learned, to be lived."

He met Galith's icy stare stolidly, with no malice or anger, only tinted with sad resignation.

"But that does not mean they are not worth learning. That they are not worth waiting for."

Galith's expression had lost a bit of its edge, still suspicious, but not quite as angry. Then, in the space of one decisive nod, that expression changed to one of resolve.

"I do not love you," she said, with a bite that Mel felt certain was meant to sting.

Treebeard only nodded.

"I do not ask it of you," he said, "That belongs to your mother, and she alone."

This seemed to undercut a bit of Galith's bitterness, but she blinked and quickly recovered her expression.

"Yes," she said, "And I swore to her that I would come to you. I have kept my word. But I think…"

She hesitated and dropped her eyes. Her hands tightened then opened again.

"She would want me to know," she said finally, "To understand."

She looked up at Treebeard, her eyes flashing stubbornly.

"But this is not my garden. She said I would know it, that I would feel it in the earth, in the breeze on my limbs."

"So it is," Treebeard agreed readily, "So it has always been. The Ents and the Entwives have spent more time apart than together: we to tend to our herds, you to tend to your gardens. It is the way of things."

Galith nodded, sharply, her back straight.

"Good," she said, "Then I shall remain for a time, to learn what I must, and understand what I can."

Without waiting for an answer, the girl turned and marched away, back to the thick group of trees in the distance. Mel watched her go, then turned her face up to Treebeard.

He was staring too, his eyes still sad.

"I am an old ent, little sister," he rumbled finally, "But never have I felt my long span of years so keenly as I do now."

Without another word, he rose and walked away, his head bowed, his steps slow and deliberate. Mel remained on the dark steps, her trepidation forgotten, feeling as useless as she ever had.

* * *

Boromir appeared not long after, and he didn't seem surprised at all when Mel told him what had happened.

"I thought as much," he said, "I spoke to Galith this morning."

"You... what?"

She might have said this a bit more sharply than she should have because Boromir glanced up at her with a furrowed brow.

"I woke early and thought to search out more dry wood for our fire, not knowing how long we might remain here. I found her and she walked with me," he said, turning to stoke up their fire from the embers of the night before, "We spoke for a time. She said she had been thinking of her mother. I told her that her mother would be very proud of her, that she had come far and done much, and that nothing else was required of her but what she wished. If she wished to remain, she would learn much. If she wished to move on, she would make her own way in fine form, forging her own path. We are not defined by our pasts, and our futures are not set in stone."

He looked up and gave her an endearing smile that Mel couldn't help but return.

"But," he continued, putting a pot of water on to warm, "Often we learn much by sitting at the feet of those who came before us. It is easier to forge a new path if we study the paths that have already been taken. She left me conflicted, I think, but I am not surprised she decided to remain. Thinking of her mother, she must know how much Fimbrethil wished her to learn the old ways. And here is the only place she can be taught such things."

He shook his head.

"I do not regret it, exactly, but I do find my heart hopeful that she will seek us out when she does decide to strike out on her own. I will…" He hesitated, "I will miss her. I have loved her, I think. Not as you do, of course, but in my own way I have loved Galith. And she has given me a spark of hope, that all may not be lost for… for our own child. For me."

A bubble of warmth filled Mel's chest and she smiled, scooting closer and laying her head on Boromir's shoulder, twining her arm with his.

"We'll be good," she said, "Everything will be good."

He rested his head on top of hers and squeezed her hand on his arm.

"As you say, Melody," he murmured, "So let it be."

After a moment, he sat up and moved the pot of water off the fire as bubbles began to form.

"Now," he asked, "Where is your mint?"

* * *

After a cup of mint tea (miraculously saved from the horrors of their journey), Mel felt even better than she had before, almost normal, despite the fact that it felt as if her trousers were losing more drawstring every day. She knew she wasn't visibly showing, but she felt huge anyway. And she realized with some trepidation that she was going to be spending at least a few more weeks on horseback before they were safely home again. She was suddenly so grateful for Elrohir's gift of the extra horse. She couldn't even fathom having spent that time riding double.

Boromir spent some time cleaning up their campsite, but he didn't pack anything away. They were sort of in a limbo. Galith had decided to remain with the ents, but Mel had promised that she would not leave until she had decided she didn't need them anymore. And Mel would gladly stay in Isengard as long as Galith needed them, despite her desire to be home before she got too big to sit a horse. Galith was her charge, until Galith herself released her from the obligation. Did her decision to stay with Treebeard constitute the end of that arrangement? And how could she bring it up without making the girl feel guilty for keeping them?

Fortunately, she didn't have to worry over those questions for long. Just as the sun was reaching its pinnacle, Galith approached their little encampment, ducking her head and letting her hair cover half her face.

"I would speak to you, Calenhiril, if you have a moment."

Mel stood immediately.

"Of course."

Galith nodded to Boromir, then turned away, toward the trickle of water that was all that remained of the torrent of the Entwash. The girl crouched by the water and dipped one slender hand into the stream, letting the tiny currents swirl about her fingers. Mel knelt beside her and waited until Galith chose to speak.

"Treebeard has invited me to walk the forests of his youth with him," she said finally.

Mel nodded.

"Fangorn Forest," she said, "It's a very living forest, or so I've heard. A lot like the Old Forest, actually."

Galith was silent for another moment.

"He has said…" She paused, tried again, "He has offered to allow you to accompany us."

Mel tried to meet the girl's eyes, but they were still fixed on the stream of water.

"What do you want, Galith?" she asked, "If you want us to come, we will."

Galith waited another long moment.

"I want... for your seed to be planted in a forest that is your home," she said, "To be transplanted is... painful. I would not wish another youngling to be rooted to a foreign place, not for anything."

Mel felt her heart lurch a little and she took the girl's free hand in hers.

"Galith," she said, "It's not…"

But the enting was already shaking her head.

"I know it is different for Men," she said, "I understand you very well, Calenhiril. And I do not say this out of guilt, I do not think. For all that he is or is not, Treebeard…"

She trailed off and glanced across the stream. In the distance, the ent in question was speaking to another, a squat fellow with spreading branches.

"He will keep me from harm," she said, "I do not hold to the idea that he loves me, beyond that which I represent. But he will not allow harm to come to me. I trust him that far."

She turned her large eyes back to Mel, set with determined stubbornness.

"I will be alright, Calenhiril," she said, "My mother was right in that respect. You have delivered me into safe hands. Your duty is fulfilled."

Mel smiled and reached out to cup the enting's face.

"If you think you were only a duty to me, Galith, then you don't know me at all," she whispered, "Though you might not believe it, we love you, vinimë. We always will. And if you ever need us, for anything, you need only send word to Ithilien and we will come running. Our hearts belong to you, Galith, for as long as we live."

The girl shut her eyes and bowed her head, leaning into Mel's touch a bit. Mel took the opportunity to sit up and press a kiss to the middle of the girl's forehead.

"Go with grace and love, little one," she murmured in Old Entish, "And know our hearts go with you."

* * *

They packed their few belongings and readied their horses in under an hour. Mel already felt tired, but she was determined not to let her condition deter them from making a least a little progress, not when they still had so much daylight left. Treebeard and Galith waited for them at the gates of Orthanc. Their paths would diverge from the gate, one to the forest, the other to the road.

"Haroomhoom, and so we part, little sister," Treebeard said, bending low at the waist, first to Boromir, then to Mel, "I hope not for the last time, but I know how swiftly the years pass for the Second-Born. Should we part now for the last time, I should like you to know…"

He paused and hummed, swaying as if in a breeze.

"Know that your love for us is felt as the ripple in a pond, and our love for you returns as a wave sent back from the shore. Never shall the name _Calenhiril_ be forgotten by the tree-folk, for as long as roots dig deep and branches wave in breezes."

Mel felt a swell of affection for the ent and it broadened into a grin on her face.

"I have no words to match such eloquence," she said fighting the choked up feeling in the back of her throat, "Good-bye, Treebeard. I wish you fair skies and fine earth."

He rumbled another of his chuckles.

"Fine words indeed," he said.

Mel turned to Galith, but found that she had already spoken all the words she might have said. Galith seemed to feel it to, because she merely stepped forward and took Mel's hand in hers, squeezing briefly, before she turned to Boromir.

"Fare you well, Son of Gondor," she said, "I hope…"

Her voice broke and Mel saw her face drop, covering her face with her hair. Boromir reached out and took one of her long, slender hands in his.

"Fare you well, Galith Fimbrethilien," he said, his voice rough, "I know what is in your heart, for it also resides in mine. Keep it, treasure it, as I will treasure it, always."

He bent to press a kiss to the knobbly knuckles of her fingers and for a long moment Galith only stared at him in stunned silence. Finally she dropped her head to her chest in a bob, almost a curtsy it was so elegant and graceful, then retreated to Treebeard's side. The ent raised his hand to them.

"Farewell, dearest friends," he said, "Farewell!"

Mel and Boromir both raised their hands in return. Then, as if by unspoken cue, they all four turned and went their separate ways. Mel felt as if she were trudging, though her horse walked with as light a step as any well-rested beast along the valley road. When they reached the lip of the mountains she couldn't stand it any longer. She reined up her horse and looked back. There, shining in the sunlight, was Galith, standing on an outcropping of rock, looking back at them. Mel saw her raise one long, slender arm into the air and she raised her own arm in return, sending her most loving, hopeful, pleasant thoughts soaring across the expanse between them. She didn't know if Galith saw, or if her thoughts reached her, but after a moment, the girl dropped her arm and jumped down into the rocks, disappearing from view. Mel felt a weight that she hadn't realized she'd been carrying lift from her heart and her soul. She had found the Entwives. The burden that had been her constant companion since her arrival in this world, so much a part of her that she hadn't even realized its existence, was gone.

She turned back to the road, and the Yavannacor's glow faded without her notice.

* * *

 **Translations:**

mairaldanettëvinimë- PreciousTreeDaughterLittleOne (New Entish, a rambling form of Quenya)

Fimbrethilien- daughter of Fimbrethil (Boromir is acknowledging and honoring her mother by giving her this surname)

 **A/N:** Guys, only one chapter and an epilogue left! Are you freaking out? Because I'm freaking out a little bit :P Don't worry, I'm not gonna leave you hanging over the weekend. I'm gonna do my best to get the last two installments out to you over the course of the day tomorrow. Stick with me, there's just a little bit more :)


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

 _The dream was not a dream. Mel knew enough of dreams now to recognize the difference. This was less than a dream and yet somehow more, a gray and misty void with no substance, slipping away from her consciousness as if hesitant to resolve itself in her mind._

 _She was also not alone. Boromir was by her side, but he was not a dream either, or even a product of the void. He met her gaze with eyes that were confused, cautious, and unquestionably real. He was there, with her, in this dream that was not a dream._

" _Melody...?" he asked._

" _I don't know," she answered._

" _ **Son of Gondor,"**_ _a man's voice proclaimed, a vaguely familiar voice, though Mel was having trouble placing it,_ _ **"Daughter of Yavanna. You have performed a great service for the Valar. It has been noted, and we are grateful."**_

 _Mel exchanged a glance with Boromir. He looked as skeptical as she felt._

" _We are honored," Mel said, tentatively, "To be of use to the minstrels of the Great Song. What further task would you ask of us, for surely we have never been brought into such accord with the Valar except at need?"_

 _There was a pause. Then a flash of green light gathered together before them, taking the aching familiar form Mel had seen so often in her dreams._

" _ **Oh, sweet child…"**_ _Yavanna whispered, her lovely mask of perfection arranged into what might have been an expression of tender remorse,_ _ **"Oh my beloved girl. We do not come to ask any more of you."**_

" _ **We come to ask what you might wish of us."**_

 _This voice, dark and smooth, spoke from the shadows at Yavanna's side, shadows that slowly swirled into a vaguely corporeal shape until, finally, Mel and Boromir beheld Mandos for the very first time. He was tall, clothed in black from boots to hood, the shadow swirling about his head and broad shoulders like a thick cloak, his face only the barest hint of an outline within his hood. Except his eyes, eyes that glowed with an otherworldly light in colors that were without name._

 _Mel felt Boromir tense at her side and she put a hand on his arm to steady him, pressing him to wait._

" _ **Brother and Sister have agreed, and pressed your case most ardently,"**_ _the first voice spoke again, and now Mel was able to place it: Manwe, Lord of the Air,_ _ **"For your service we would honor their agreement. To each of you one gift shall be given, the gift of memory, a chosen companion to share your lives, to lessen the burden of your sacrifice."**_

 _The words hit Mel like a blow to the chest, and she thought she might be dying all over again. If this hadn't been happening in a different plane of existence, there was no way she would still be standing on her shaky knees. Was… Was he really saying what she thought he was saying? It wasn't… He couldn't mean…_

" _You are in earnest?" Boromir said, still sounding suspicious, "They will remember us? As we once were?"_

 _Mandos turned his glowing eyes on Boromir and regarded him stoically._

" _ **You speak true and clearly, Son of Gondor,"**_ _he said,_ _ **"You have only to speak the name, and the memory of both lives shall be given. Choose wisely."**_

 _Mel turned to stare at Boromir. She knew who he would choose. In a heartbeat, she knew. It was simple, obvious..._

" _Faramir."_

 _The name left her lips easily, so easily that it took a moment for Mel to realize that she had inadvertently given Boromir her choice. But that was alright. Boromir deserved everything she could give. He had followed her, saved her, loved her, died for her. He had given up everything, all for her. She could give him this, happily, with no regrets. Well, perhaps one, small regret, but she had already let go of that dream in Rivendell, and a little bit more every day since._

 _Yavanna was smiling fondly at her, her mask-like face the closest to human it had ever looked._

" _ **So it shall be, little one.**_ _"_

 _Boromir was smiling too. He shook his head, as if at some small foolishness, and reached for her, pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her._

" _You are my gift," he whispered in her ear._

 _And in a voice that resonated in every corner of Mel's mind, he spoke the name._

* * *

In the silent dark of his bedroom, the Steward of Gondor came awake with a gasp and sat straight up in bed, his eyes wide and staring at the wall. Beside him, his new wife stirred sleepily.

"What is it, my love?" Eowyn murmured.

Faramir did not answer her for a long while, long enough that Eowyn had time to wake more fully and sit up beside him. His mind was awash with conflicting images, a roiling mass of what had and had not been. Was this what going mad felt like? Was he going mad as his father had done? But… no. Things were already beginning to resolve themselves, to fall into place, a large mural of events, two streams of time flowing side-by-side. And gradually he was filled with the powerful conviction that whatever this was, it was not madness.

 _A gift…_ a voice murmured in the dark.

"Faramir?" Eowyn's voice was worried now, concern furrowing her pale brow, "What troubles you?"

He stared at her with new eyes, eyes now colored by images of a past that had never been, as the last piece of the mural painted itself in brilliant color on the canvas of his mind.

"Boromir…" he whispered.

* * *

Far to the north, a small fire burned slowly down to embers. Two wandering travelers shared the warmth, one wrapped in a blanket, snoring with the verve and enthusiasm typical of his race. The other kept watch, but his eyes were glazed and distant, in the manner of the Eldar at rest. Until he came to with a violent start that jerked him to his feet. Without thought or delay, he dropped to his companion's side and shook him.

"Gimli!" Legolas hissed, "Gimli, wake up!"

The dwarf started awake with a snort and shot upright, scrambling for his axe.

"What is it? Are we attacked?"

"No," Legolas said, his mind returning to him once again, "No, nothing like that. Only I… I _remember,_ Gimli. I remember all of it..."

Gimli put down his axe and rubbed his eyes.

"Remember what, lad?" he grumbled.

Legolas stared at the dwarf, bewildered. How…? How could he not know? How could he not _remember_?

 _A gift…_ a voice whispered, drifting on the night breeze.

Legolas sat back slowly, comprehension blooming on his face.

"Mel…" he whispered.

* * *

 _Two Years Later_

Two years. It had taken two long years, but finally, _finally,_ he was here. Legolas fought to control the emotion roiling within him as he rode by the side of his host under the green canopy of untamed forest. Faramir was not so different from the last time he had seen him, though he now carried himself with a bearing more befitting his status, worthy of a prince rather than a Steward's second son.

"We are still hunting the orc bands that roam the better part of these woods, but we haven't seen any signs of dark creatures in this area for almost a year," the Man said, tugging his horse absently from a clump of grass at the path-side, "It is ideally suited to your purpose, my lord, mostly open terrain with a few pockets of dense trees, within easy distance of Emyn Arnen. The city is serving only as a barracks for now, a base for the Rangers and home only to those who have volunteered for rebuilding, but once we more firmly establish the road and begin regular trade with Osgiliath others will come. There are many with family ties to Ithilien that lack only assurance of safety. Your people would do much to ease those worries and speed the resettlement of the wider territory."

Legolas nodded, casting his eyes about absently. He could feel the forest moving around him, almost otherworldly in its ambiguous intentions. It felt… It felt like home, like Mirkwood, which many were beginning to call Greenwood again. That was good. It would make the transition easier for those he would bring back with him. He knew what bringing the elves to Ithilien would mean for Faramir and his dreams of establishing his newly won kingdom as a power in its own right, leading it into the light.

It was why King Thranduil, his father, had agreed so readily to the proposal. The prospect of being the catalyst for change and prosperity, as well as gaining a foothold in one of the largest untapped resources of Middle Earth, was not one to be lightly cast aside, and certainly not over a petty family squabble, one that was long due an olive branch. Legolas had his own reasons for presenting the idea, of course, but he had allowed his father, and subsequently those around him, to believe what they liked as to his motives. It mattered very little in the larger scheme of things. He was here now. All else would follow as fate willed it.

They were approaching a small valley, the main trail curving gently away from the decline and the horses set themselves to follow it. But there was a side path, nearly hidden in the underbrush, and Legolas reined up.

"What's down there?"

Faramir pulled around and inspected the trail, shaking his head.

"I know not," he said, "There are many such clusters of trees, undisturbed except for the passing of wildlife."

Legolas turned his mount's head toward the valley.

"Let's find out," he said, tossing a grin over his shoulder to his companion, "I would see all the hidden parts of this place before I bring my people here."

Faramir shrugged and followed after him easily enough. The brush grew thick once they left the well-trod course, but it certainly wasn't impassable and the smaller track, once spotted, was not easily lost again. And in any case, the thickest part of the underbrush only lasted a span of minutes and then the trail opened onto a wide expanse which brought the two riders up short, staring.

They were on the edge of an orchard. There was no other way to describe what they were seeing. The trees were set in orderly rows, well-tended, the beginnings of green apples set high in the branches. There was no fence about the trees, but Legolas supposed that no fence would be needed, so far into the wilderness and so unlikely to be disturbed. So well away from the eyes of the world…

Before his thoughts could coalesce into suspicions, a childish giggle bounced to his ears, bringing him sharply back to himself. A small girl stumbled out from behind one of the larger apple trees and tottered to a wobbly stop at the sight of them, blinking and then breaking into the sunniest of smiles, not a hint of fear in her sharp, gray eyes. She couldn't be much older than a year or two, little more than a babe even in the lifespan of Men. Legolas descended from his horse and held out his hand to her.

"Suil, pinig," he said cheerfully, approaching with slow, careful steps as Faramir descended his own mount, "What brings you so far into the forest without a hand to guide you?"

The girl's smile widened and she giggled again, that special sound only a child can make. Legolas felt his smile grow with hers. And then a voice through the trees froze the smile to his face and the blood in his veins.

"Famiriel? Famiriel! Where are you, you little rugrat?"

The breath caught painfully in Legolas' throat as the child turned toward the voice and cried out in a shrill, delighted voice.

"Mama! Mama!"

She squealed and toddled back toward the orchard, but before she could disappear from sight, Mel stepped out of the shade of the orderly trees and caught the girl in her arms, swinging her into the air and settling her on her hip with a fond familiarity.

"I swear, vinimë, you will be the death of me," Mel said, touching the child's nose fondly and grinning.

The girl laughed and tugged on Mel's sleeve, pointing with insistence in the direction of Legolas, who still felt as if his body had betrayed him to stillness.

"Mama, mama!"

Mel's eyes turned and she caught Legolas in her green gaze. Something in her expression broke. The smile slid away, her eyes widened, and she gripped the child, _her_ child, it was obvious now they were together, just a touch more tightly. There was a moment of infinite silence in which they did not speak or move. The moment was broken by another voice, a voice Legolas had chastised himself over countless times in the past two years, both ashamed and appalled that he hadn't recognized it the moment he had heard it upon the plains of Rohan.

"Melody? Have you found her at last?"

Mel blinked and then cleared her throat, though the action did nothing to sooth the rough sound of tears in her voice.

"Yes, my love," she said, her eyes flicking over Legolas' shoulder, where he suddenly remembered Faramir stood, though he was also still and silent, "It seems she has found playmates for herself."

"Playmates?" Boromir asked, with a sort of fond exasperation, "She hasn't managed to capture another rabbit, has she? When we let the last one go she cried for a…"

His voice trailed off as he stepped from the trees, his eyes fixed on the point beyond Legolas. Faramir still had not spoken and Legolas thought he should turn and speak to his host, to explain... what? How could he explain this, that the man before them did not just _look_ like Faramir's brother, he _was_ his brother, the same brother Faramir had seen carried away by the Anduin over two years ago, his _dead_ brother. How did you explain something like that, how did you even begin...?

"Boromir…"

The Steward's voice broke, but there was no doubt in it, no question of what his eyes were seeing. He knew. Of course he did, what a fool Legolas felt now, thinking he would be the only one, the only person to whom this great gift had been given. He closed his eyes, clenching the hand that still remained suspended in the air before him, reaching out, first for the child, now for… he knew not what. Since that night on the road, when all had been made clear to him, he had thought of nothing but this moment, of finding the one for whom his soul cried out. But now that it was before him, that _she_ was before him…

He could remember every cruel word he had spoken to her, every chill gesture, every suspicious glance… He could smell pine needles beneath his feet, hear the call of a faraway night bird, feel her shoulders beneath his fingers as he shook her…

…stars, how could he even _look_ at her now? His fist was trembling. It was still slightly raised and shaking in the air and he could not look at her, could not open his eyes and see…

A hand touched his. Only a brush of fingertips against his knuckles at first, but then clasping over his fist, encompassed in two hands smaller than his own, warm and steady.

"It's okay," Mel whispered and Legolas' soul burst with light, "Legolas, it's… it's okay."

He was shaking all over now and his feet moved at the insistence of her hands on his, pulling him forward, wrapping him in her arms and laying his head on upon her shoulder, stroking his hair. He was sinking, sinking to the earth, but she followed, she was there, she was steady, she was _real,_ and he had only two words clawing at his throat.

"I'm sorry," he choked, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

Mel shushed him with soft whispers and gentle touches.

"Peace, orenyanil," she whispered in his ear, "You're home now. You're home."

And finally, Legolas' soul was whole again.

* * *

 **Translations:**

Suil, pinig- Greetings, little one

vinimë- little one (q)

orenyanil- my heart (inner mind) friend (q)


	30. Chapter 30

**Epilogue: "…and What Happened After."**

Legolas Thranduilion returned to his father in the winter of the second year of the Fourth Age (Gondor Reckoning), with the recommendation that a small group of warriors and healers be sent as the first elven settlers of Ithilien, clearing the way for others who would come later. In the spring of Year Three, he returned to the section of forest that had been gifted to his people with a group of twenty Mirkwood elves, including five healers, just in time to assist in the birth of Mel's twin boys, whom she named Legolian and Lasnér.

In the sixth year of the Fourth Age (five years after the last of the Entwives fell into everlasting slumber), Galith Fimbrethilien, accompanied by Bregalad of the Lost Rowans and the elf Elladan of Imladris, set foot for the first time in the forest of Ithilien. And she knew it. She knew the breeze in her limbs, she knew the earth beneath her feet. After so many years, the enting had found her garden.

This came at a time of sadness for Melody and Boromir, who were mourning the loss of a third pregnancy, but the arrival of their surrogate-daughter, and the knowledge that she would remain with them, did much to lift their spirits. By the time Galith was tending to her garden for its second flowering, the couple had welcomed their fourth child into the world, calling her Caerulhinn (a name that was as close to Mel's mother's name, Carolyn, as they could get).

Though Mel taught all her children to understand and respect the trees of the orchard and the forest, Caerulhinn had a closer affinity to growing things than her siblings. By the time of her second birthday (and well into Mel's fifth pregnancy, a boy they would name Belhindîr, a subtle reference to Boromir's father) she was insistent, in the way only small children can be, that the trees spoke to her, a claim the adults in her life brushed off as childish wishfulness. That is, until the day the girl boldly announced the arrival of a band of orcs on the border of their valley, just in time for Legolas to arrive and confirm that the threat was very real indeed. The orcs were dispatched and Caerulhinn was taken a bit more seriously after that.

As the well-known (and soon enough, also well-liked) friends of Prince Legolas, the Gondorian orchard-keepers were given the greatest care the Eldar could offer them, in regards to protection, trade, and even medicinal aid. But though the community of elven settlers was a great boon to Mel and Boromir, they were not immune to illness, or the grief that came with it. In the year FA 12 the couple was blessed with another son, but then forced to part with him after only a few short months, lost to a rapid and fatal cough in the coldest winter they had yet experienced. The loss of the boy nearly parted Mel from her own life, barely brought back to herself by the time spring returned to Ithilien. But she was never quite the same afterward, more prone to introspection and melancholy than laughter.

The orchard-keepers were also known by most in Emyn Arnen as the trusted and dear friends of Prince Faramir. They weren't often seen within the city walls, but it was well-known that the prince often visited the hidden valley in the forest, sometimes accompanied by his wife Eowyn, and sometimes their son Elboron as well. On one of these occasions, in the year FA 17, the family returned with a new addition, a girl of sixteen, tall and slender with long, dark hair and striking gray eyes. Famiriel was taken as the Lady Eowyn's handmaiden, and it was rumored for a time that the girl was meant to be pledged in marriage to the young Elboron, as she was so often seen in the boy's company. In two short years, however, those rumors were quite thoroughly dashed, when she instead wed the son of a cloth merchant and settled quite happily in the thriving middle class of the city. Prince Legolas himself was said to have crafted the garland of flowers that adorned her hair, and Prince Faramir gifted the rings that the couple exchanged. And for the first time in eight years, watching her daughter join her life to a man she loved, Mel felt true joy again.

Less than a year later, Boromir and Mel's seventh and final child was born, a girl they named Andreth. When she came of age, she gave herself in marriage to an elf, one of a group of Lothlorien elves that had come in recent years to join the Ithilien community: his name was Orophin, brother of Rumil and Haldir, former March Wardens of Caras Galadhon, all of whom had come to Ithilien following the departure of their Lord and Lady. None of the brothers could ever quite understand why this pleased their new mother-in-law quite so much, or why there were tears in her eyes when she first caught sight of Haldir's own wife... a healer named Eregwen.

There were of course, in the years that followed, a plethora of grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren. Legolian and Lasnér both took wives (though later in life than was customary, as they both seemed incapable of settling on a thing for longer than five seconds at time and were prone to acts of jest well into adulthood) and moved into Emyn Arnen with their eldest sister, establishing a trade route through the connections of the Ithilien elves and Famiriel's business-savvy husband.

Belhindîr (so like his namesake that it sometimes caused Boromir pain) found his greatest delight in arms, as his father had done. The day he came of age, he kissed his mother, shook his father's hand, and struck out for Minas Tirith to enter into the service of the White Tower, accompanied by a letter of recommendation from Prince Faramir himself. He quickly rose through the ranks, eventually taking an honored position as a guard to the newly established White Tree of the King. Mel pretended not to notice when Boromir wept at this news.

Caerulhinn never married, but took over the managing of the orchard from her parents, calling the trees her partners and friends. Though over time she had lost the ability to hear them speak, she could still sense their needs better than anyone in her family (except her mother, of course), and the orchard flourished under her care. She did eventually take one of Andreth's children under her wing, a young boy known to spend more time in the forest than at his lessons anyway, and taught the child all she knew, and so the orchard was kept in the family for generations beyond record.

Legolas never strayed very far from the orchard. Though his duties took him far and wide in the earth, he always returned to the hidden valley, always drawn back to the place his soul called home. He loved all of Mel's children (and grandchildren and great-grandchildren) as his own blood, and spent many contented hours chasing the littlest ones through the trees, the ringing sound of childish laughter a balm on his heart and the smile on his orenyanil's face all the love he would ever need.

But in his contentment, he forgot that the lives of Men are fleeting. And all things must someday come to an end, even if we are not ready for them, can never truly be ready...

* * *

The day everything changed, for the last time, was a fine, sunny day in late summer. Every window in the little cottage had been thrown open to let in the light and the breeze, fragrant with fresh grass and apples not quite ripe. It would be harvest soon and Caerulhinn was out tending to the trees with her young charge (not so young now, though his half-elven heritage gave him a more youthful appearance than his years might suggest).

Legolas sat at the kitchen table and watched as Mel puttered about, cleaning up the breakfast things and the preparations from the lunch she had packed for her daughter. Her hair had turned gray and was worn in a long braid down her back now, but she remained remarkably hale for a woman of over one hundred years. Legolas knew that his expectation for the life spans of Men was skewed, but even he had begun to suspect something amiss. Her husband's hair had turned white many years before, and he did not get about quite so well as she did, when he got about at all.

Mel took a rag and wiped the table, Legolas lifting his cup of tea so she could wipe beneath it with the comfortable familiarity of a long established relationship. He felt as if he had always been here, as if his soul had always lived within this small moment in time and the rest of him had only just now caught up. Mel shook out her rag, stood back with hands on her hips to survey her work, and caught his eye.

"What?" she asked, mirroring his smile, her bright green eyes still sharp within the folds of her face.

"I was only thinking how much I love you, orenyanil," he said comfortably, taking another sip of his cooling tea.

Mel rolled her eyes and flapped her rag at him.

"Aye, and I, you, mellon-nîn," she said, turning to gather a plate with a few pieces of bacon and a slice of toast, reaching for another cup of tea.

"I'll take it," Legolas offered, setting down his empty cup and taking the plate from her hand, "Sit a moment, you work too hard, iaur-dî."

Mel rolled her eyes and muttered something quite uncharitable under her breath in Legolas' native tongue, but she did as he bid her, and Legolas took the plate and fresh cup of tea out of the room, using his elbow to maneuver the kitchen door open and step out into the bright light of morning.

Boromir sat just outside in a chair by the door, his eyes closed, a contented smile touching his lips as his chest rose and fell in slow, steady cadence. Not wishing to disturb, Legolas turned to set his burdens on the grass beside him, but Boromir stirred anyway, despite his care, coming to slow wakefulness and blinking the haze from his watery gray eyes.

"Ah, Legolas," he said, reaching out to take Legolas' hand in his own, the skin wrinkled and thin, but the grip still insistently firm, "Guren glassui, mellon-nîn vell."

This sudden declaration from the normally stoic Gondorian startled Legolas and he took Boromir's hand a bit more firmly himself.

"I 'ell nîn," he said, with a stuttered hesitancy, "Ci va… That is, are you alright, my friend? Do you need anything?"

Boromir chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest.

"No," he said, "No, nothing but your company and the one I have loved these many years. Call her for me, would you? I would spend this lovely morning with those who know me best."

Legolas did as his friend bid and Mel came, brushing back the tendrils of white hair from her husband's brow with everlasting tenderness.

"What is it, love?" she asked, "Can I get you something?"

Boromir hummed and shut his eyes, leaning into her soft touch with a look of such untroubled pleasure that for the first time in a very long time, Legolas felt as if he were intruding. He was just debating the merits of slipping away quietly, when Boromir's eyes opened again, his gaze filled with calm serenity.

"No, Melody," he said, "I need nothing but you."

Mel smiled and sank into a matching chair beside him.

"Well, I suppose I could see my way to spending one idle morning, anyway," she said, tossing a smirk at Legolas and tapping the ground before her with her toe, "Come, orenyanil, sit. You are the younger, and so shall have the grass for your cushion."

"I am older than the both of you, many times over," Legolas pointed out, but sat graciously enough at Mel's feet.

The morning was already warm and drowsy, and soon enough Legolas' head was resting comfortably on Mel's knee, one of her hands carding absently at his hair, the other held in Boromir's.

Suddenly Boromir sighed, a contented sound, though something in it caused Legolas to raise his head and look at his old friend.

"The lady Goldberry was right," Boromir murmured, his eyes closed, his creased face turned up toward the sun, "About so many things. Hope, and joy, and love beyond measure…"

He trailed off and opened his eyes, turning to Mel and smiling.

"I would not trade one moment with you, Melody, for all the rest of time on this earth."

Legolas felt Mel stiffen and he looked at her. She wasn't smiling. She was staring at Boromir, searching his eyes, her expression closer to concern than contentment.

"What is it, love?" she asked finally, though the endearment did not hold the same tenderness as it had before, "What ails you?"

Boromir sighed and laid his head back again.

"Nothing, except that which troubles all Men," he murmured, "All things must end… yet more of Goldberry's wisdom. She knew so much that I could only guess at."

Mel sat back hard in her chair, and Legolas could see the stubbornness in the set of her shoulders.

"All things must end," she said, with a haughty bite to her tone, "But not before their time. And I am certainly not ready to be parted from you, so I say it is not your time or mine."

This last part felt slightly more tremulous than the last, a bit more frightened and desperate than stubborn.

"The day will come…" Boromir murmured, but then trailed off. They were all silent for a long time.

Then Boromir seemed to rouse himself and smiled at Legolas, who felt a sinking weight wrap around his heart.

"Will you sing us a song, Legolas?" he asked, "It feels like a morning for songs."

Legolas obliged and the moment passed, as did the morning and the day, in its own peaceful way, time an ever flowing stream that stopped for no one, no matter how you tried to dam it up.

And in the quiet stillness of the summer night, in the darkest hour just before dawn, Boromir of Gondor breathed his last contented breath.

He was buried in the far western corner of the orchard, closest to Minas Tirith and the White Tower to which his first life had been wholly given, beneath the shadow of the apple trees to which he had devoted his second life. In the days that followed, Prince Faramir would commission a stone to mark the place, white marble inscribed with the cryptic words: "For Love, He Gave All."

But for now, there was only a plank of wood on which had been written the name 'Esgalion of Ithilien' (a name which he had taken to with more ease and frequency than the name he'd been born to, in the end) and the words:

 _Devoted Friend_

 _Doting Father_

 _Dearest Love_

 _Be At Peace, Son of Gondor_

Legolas stood at Mel's side in the light of the setting sun, Caerulhinn having returned to the house to write the letters that would be delivered to the rest of her siblings, scattered in the great wide world. They would come, of course, from all their varied corners, Andreth first as she was closest, the twins and Famiriel when they could get their families gathered, Belhindîr as soon as he could be granted time from his duties to make the journey. Galith would come as well, Legolas knew, the daughter that the forest had given them, the daughter of their hearts if not their blood. They would descend on the orchard in a swarm of comfort and support for the mother they loved, in memory of the father they had worshiped. But now it was quiet in the last light of the fading day, and Legolas held Mel's hand, waiting for her to be ready. He would wait forever, if that was what she required of him. There was nothing he would not do for her.

"I knew…" Mel's voice was distant, and she shook her head, as if to clear it, "I mean, I've suspected, for a long while I thought… but I didn't want to believe."

Legolas squeezed her hand.

"There was nothing you could have done…"

But she shook her head again, as if he were missing the point of her words, so he fell silent.

"No," she said, "No, there wasn't. Not for him. He was right, of course, he was trying to tell me, but I wasn't listening, I... wasn't ready."

Her voice broke and she took a breath to compose it.

"I could never be ready," she said, "Never, not if I lived for a thousand years."

She raised her hand to the light, turned it so the emerald of the Yavannacor glittered in what remained of the sun's rays.

"Legolas?"

His eyes were still fixed on her face. Her eyes were still fixed on the glittering jewel.

"If I asked it of you, would you do one last thing for me? One last, unquestioning thing?"

He answered without thought.

"You know that I would."

There was a pause. Then Mel released his hand and, smoothly, as if she'd been doing it all her life, she slipped the ring off her finger, letting it come to rest in her upturned palm. She held it out to him.

"Take it."

For several moments Legolas could only stare at the glittering bit of green and gold. He had never once seen her without the ring on her finger. Not once in all the long years he had known her. It seemed so much a part of her that he was reluctant to put out his hand for it, to part it from her skin where it seemed so natural and true. But he had said that he would, so he reached out and plucked the tiny thing from her, holding it up between thumb and forefinger.

It was lighter than he had expected. Somehow he had always thought of the Yavannacor as a terrible weight, though Mel carried it effortlessly enough. She wore the mantle of Calenhiril as naturally as she wore her own skin. And Legolas had the terrible gut-twisting sense that he had ripped away some tiny piece of her soul and now held it in his fingers. He turned to look at her...

She was older. Though Legolas' sense of the scale of Men's lives was hopelessly distorted, he had never once thought Mel looked her age. Until this moment. Nothing had physically altered of course, but there was some sense of relenting, of bowing under the weight of something that was no longer there, releasing a burden that was no longer meant to be born. She still gazed at the ring held in his fingers, but it was with a look of fond release, as she had looked when sending her children off into the world.

"Keep it," she said, taking his hand in hers again, "And when you go your way, as you must, take it with you. Take it across the sea, to the land of light and silver glass. And if, someday, you should see my Mother…"

Her smile widened slightly and he saw a spark of something mischievous in her gaze.

"Tell her my work is done," she said, "And she shall have no more than that which she gave me in the beginning. I'll give no more to the Valar. This…"

She reached up, as if to brush her finger against the ring, but pulled back at the last moment.

"This is my final gift."

Legolas nodded and with great reluctance, palmed the ring and put it in a pocket. Mel leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Will you stay with me?" she asked.

Legolas pressed his cheek to the top of her head, reveling in the soft touch of her downy gray hair.

"Always, orenyanil," he whispered.

"No," Mel sighed, and he could hear the smile in her voice, "No, not this time. Just 'til the end."

Legolas turned and pressed his lips to her hair.

* * *

It was three years later that Melody Bernston, now more often called Lindel of Ithlilien (though she had never quite gotten used to that name, and all who knew her well called her Mel), joined her husband for the final time on the western edge of the orchard, by his side as she had remained through two lifetimes and now would ever be. As Legolas stood gazing down at the freshly turned earth, he thought Mel had been right on that day three years before. He wasn't ready. He would never be ready, not if he lived for a thousand long years. He held the Yavannacor clenched tightly in his fist and a tear tracked down his cheek, the first he had shed for the one that held his heart.

There was a rustle in the trees, but he did not turn. From the periphery of his vision he saw the entwife approach, her long, deliberate strides bringing her cautiously to his side. Galith's hair had lightened in the seventy-five years since she'd arrived in Ithilien, to the soft corn silk hue the old songs told about and her green skin had smoothed rather than wrinkled. On the cusp of the prime of her very long life. She stood for a long while by his side, swaying gently and humming a tune that Legolas didn't recognize, though it was sad and soft and gentle. A song of endings.

"I have decided," she said at last.

Legolas didn't acknowledge this. It was like hearing words from a great distance.

"I have decided," she said again, "To plant my seed."

Legolas finally managed to rouse himself enough to look at her. The entwife kept her own large eyes fixed on the graves of the two people she had loved most in all the world, her surrogate family. Legolas knew how much she had loved them. And how much they had loved her. The least he could do was share in her grief.

"It will be in my garden," she said, "As it must be."

She called most of the forest of Ithilien her garden, all but the land that encompassed the valley. That belonged to the Calenhiril, a gift from the Valar.

"But I would…" She paused and swayed a bit more fervently, humming in a way that reminded him strongly of Treebeard, "I would honor them. Should my seed bear an Ent, I would call him Calenian, if a Wife, Calindel."

She looked at him now and Legolas could see the tears shimmering in those large eyes.

"Do you think...?" she asked, "Do you think that would honor them? Do you think it good?"

Legolas felt the tension drain out of him. His grip on the ring in his palm loosened.

"Yes," he said, his voice tired, so very tired, "Yes, it is very good."

* * *

Legolas Thranduilion left the forest of Ithilien for the last time in the eighty-first year of the Fourth Age. The community he had established was thriving through the joint efforts of Men and Elves, and the forest flourished under the watchful eye of the ent and the entwife that few even knew to be there. So Legolas went to his friend Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves, and dwelt with him for a time as he had always promised he would do. But it was no great secret that the elf was uncommonly melancholy, or that his heart yearned for the sea. And so, in the year 120 FA, following the death of King Elessar of Gondor, Gimli passed the lordship of the Caves on to his son and accompanied his friend to the Western shores, where together they built a ship and sailed away, bound for Valinor. As they crested the waves of the tide and the land of Middle Earth faded behind them, Legolas turned his eyes to the horizon, an emerald ring warming gradually in his clenched fist.

Thus ends the story of Calenhiril, the name spoken ever after in the forests of the world with love and reverence.

And never again was there a tale of Fate so thwarted.

* * *

 **Translations:**

orenyanil (q)- my heart (inner mind) friend

mellon-nîn- my friend

iaur-dî- old woman

Guren glassui- I thank you from my heart

mellon-nîn vell- my beloved friend

I 'ell nîn- It was my pleasure.

Ci va(er)...- Do you feel well?

 **Name Meanings:**

Lindel- Song or Melody

Esgalion- The Son in Hiding

Famiriel- Jeweled Huntress (a form of Faramir's name)

Legolian and Lasnér- Green-Son and Leaf-Man (obviously named for Legolas)

Caerulhinn- Loud Song of the Earth

Belhindîr- strong, lithe, slender (the same meaning of Denethor, but using different word roots)

Andreth- This is the name of a daughter of the first Boromir (the one that our Boromir is named for). The original Andreth fell in love with an elf-lord, but because the elves were at war they were never able to be together. I thought I could give this daughter of Boromir a happier ending in a time of peace.

Calenian- Green-Son (since Galith knew Boromir as the Son of Gondor and the wife of Calenhiril, this is a mash up of that)

Calindel- Green-Song

 **Other tidbits of information that might be of interest:**

For those who might be curious, my head-canon for Loriel (the servant-girl from Second Chances), is that she comes to Ithilien in service to Lady Eowyn and eventually becomes the official dress-maker of the White Lady of Ithilien. She and Mel never met again in the course of my fic, so I wasn't able to drop this into the narrative, but that's my take on it :)

 **Acknowledgments:**

There have been so many people who have encouraged me on this journey, it's hard to know where to begin. Every single review, favorite, follow, kudos, message, and good thought has helped and been appreciated more than I could ever express. I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your support over the many years this has taken me to complete.

 **An open call to all fans:**

This is a call to anyone who desperately wishes that Mel and Boromir's story wasn't over: it doesn't have to be! Though I have written the last work I will be doing for this story, I am officially opening up the Changing History saga to all fanfiction writers everywhere! I encourage those of you who need more Melomir (or would like to explore the stories of their children, or any of the myriad of other original characters in this fic) to _please_ consider writing a companion fic, a fanfic of my fanfic, an AU, anything you like! All I ask is that you please link back to me or my fanfiction in your story somewhere, so that others can read the original (in a sense ;P) material as well. And if you do write something, even if it's small, even if you think it isn't any good, I would love it if you let me know! Feel free to drop me a line anytime, either here or on any of my social media sites (I'm 'fogisbeautiful' pretty much everywhere), and direct me to your work, I'd love to see what you come up with!

Thank you guys again for everything that you do, and everything that you will do. I seriously can't thank you enough for taking this incredible journey with me.


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